THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 

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IIis.   Kate  Gordon  Moore 


A 


a 


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EDWIN  P.  WHIPPLE'S  WRITINGS. 


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ESSAYS  AND    REVIEWS. 


EDWIN   P?  WHIPPLE. 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 
VOL.   I. 


SEVENTH    EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES    R.   OSGOOD    AND    COMPANY, 

hXl&  TICKNOB  &  FIELDS,  AND  Fliaj>S,  OSGOOD,  ft  CO. 

1878. 


^'1 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  ye;ix  IS50, 

Bt  En^nx  P.  Whipple, 

[q  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  fur  the  District  of  MassachusettB. 


H'lreoty  jied  by 

lOBAKT   &    ROBBIMSf 

BOSTON 


CONTENTS. 


MACAULAY, •  .  .  9 

POETS  AND  POETRY  OF  AMERICA,  .  •  .       31 

SPRAODB. 

SANA. 

BRYANT. 

PBRCIVAL. 

HALLECK. 

LONOPBIXOW. 

HOLMES. 

WHITTIBR. 

MARIA  BROOKS. 

TALFOURD,  ...'..         81 

WORDS,  ....  .103 

JAMES'S  NOVELS,    ......        116 

SYDNEY  SMITH,  ...  .138 

DANIEL  WEBSTER,  ...  .173 

NEAL'S  mSTORY  OF  THE  PURITANS,     ...  808 

WORDSWORTH,        ...  .228 

BYRON,  ......  267 

ENGLISH  POETS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY,  .       299 

8HBLLBT. 
BCOTT. 
COLBRIDGB. 
BOUTBBT. 


▼in  CONTENTS. 


MOOSB. 

CAMPBELL. 

TENNYSON. 

PROCTOR. 

KBATS. 

ELLIOTT. 

MISS    BARRETT. 

BAILBT. 


SOUTH'S  SERMONS,         .....  878 

COLERIDGE  AS  A  PHILOSOPHICAL  CRITIC,  .  .  «Q6 


ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS. 


VOL.   L 


ESSAYS  AND  EEYIEWS. 


MACAULAY. 


It  is  impossible  to  cast  even  a  careless  glance  over  the 
literature  of  the  last  thirty  years,  without  perceiving  the 
prominent  station  occupied  by  critics,  reviewers  and 
essayists.  Criticism,  in  the  old  days  of  Monthly  Reviews 
and  Gentlemen's  Magazines,  was  quite  an  humble  occu- 
pation, and  was  chiefly  monopolized  by  the  "  barren 
rascals  "  of  letters,  who  scribbled,  sinned  and  starved,  in 
attics  and  cellars ;  but  it  has  since  been  almost  exalted 
into  a  creative  art,  and  numbers  among  its  professors 
some  of  the  most  accomplished  writers  of  the  age, 
Dennis,  Rhymer,  Winstanley,  Theophilus  Gibber,  Grif- 
fiths, and  other  "  eminent  hands,"  as  well  as  the  name- 
less contributors  to  defunct  periodicals,  have  departed, 
body  and  soul,  and  left  not  a  ^VTeck  behind ;  and  their 
places  have  been  supplied  by  such  men  as  Coleridge, 
Carlyle,  Macaulay,  Lamb,  Hazlitt,  Jeffrey,  Wilson,  Gif- 
ford.  Mackintosh,  Sydney  Smith,  Hallam,  Campbell, 
Falfourd,    and    Brougham.      Indeed,    every   celebrated 

*  Boston  Miscellauy,  February,  1S43. 


10  ESSAYS    ANU   REVIEWS. 

writer  of  the  present  century,  without,  it  is  believed,  a 
solitary  exception,  has  dabbled  or  excelled  in  criticism. 
It  has  been  the  road  to  fame  and  profit,  and  has  com- 
manded both  applause  and  guineas,  when  the  unfortu- 
nate objects  of  it  have  been  blessed  with  neither.  Many 
of  the  strongest  minds  of  the  age  will  leave  no  other 
record  behind  them  than  critical  essays  and  popular 
speeches.  To  those  who  have  made  criticism  a  busi- 
ness, it  has  led  to  success  in  other  professions.  The 
Edinburgh  Review,  which  took  the  lead  in  the  establish 
ment  of  the  new  order  of  things,  was  projected  in  a  lofty 
attic  by  two  briefless  barristers  and  a  titheless  parson  ; 
the  former  are  now  lords,  and  the  latter  is  a  snug  pre- 
bendary, rejoicing  in  the  reputation  of  being  the  divinest 
wit  and  wittiest  divine  of  the  age.  That  celebrated 
journal  made  reviewing  more  respectable  than  author- 
ship. It  was  started  at  a  time  when  the  degeneracy  of 
literature  demanded  a  sharp  vein  of  criticism.  Its  con- 
tributors were  men  who  possessed  talents  and  inform- 
ation, and  so  far  held  a  slight  advantage  over  most  of 
those  they  reviewed.  Grub-street  quarterly  quaked  to 
its  foundations,  as  the  northern  comet  shot  its  portentous 
glare  into  the  dark  alleys  where  bathos  and  puerility 
buzzed  and  hived.  The  citizens  of  Brussels,  on  the 
night  previous  to  Waterloo,  were  hardly  more  terror- 
struck,  than  the  vast  array  of  fated  authors  who,  every 
three  months,  waited  the  appearance  of  the  baleful 
luminary,  and,  starting  at  every  sound  which  betokened 
its  arrival, 

"  WhisperoH  with  white  lips,  the  foe!  it  comes!  it  comes!" 

In  the  early  and  palmy  days  of  the    Review,  when 
nwiewers  were  wits,  and  writers  were  hacks,  the   shore 


MACAULAY.  11 

of  the  great  ocean  of  books  was  "  heaped  with  the 
damned  like  pebbles."  Like  an  "  eagle  in  a  dovecote," 
it  fluttered  the  leaves  of  the  Minerva  Press,  and  stifled 
the  weak  notes  of  imbecile  elegance,  and  the  dull  croak 
of  insipid  vulgarity,  learned  ignorance,  and  pompous 
humility.  The  descent  of  Attila  on  the  Roman  empire 
was  not  a  more  awful  visitation  to  the  Italians,  than  the 
fell  swoop  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  on  the  degenerate 
denizens  of  Grut>-street  and  Paternoster  Row.  It  carried 
ruin  and  devastation  whithersoever  it  went,  and  in 
many  cases  it  carried  those  severe  but  providential  dis 
pensations  to  the  right  places,  and  made  havoc  consistent 
both  with  political  and  poetic  justice.  The  Edinburgh 
reviewers,  indeed,  were  found  not  to  be  of  the  old  school 
of  critics.  They  were  not  contented  with  the  humble 
task  of  chronicling  the  appearance  of  books,  and  meekly 
condensintr  their  weak  contents  for  the  edification  of 
lazy  heads ;  but  when  they  deigned  to  read  and  analyze 
the  work  they  judged,  they  sought  rather  for  opportuni- 
ties to  display  their  own  wit  and  knowledge,  than  to 
flatter  the  vanity  of  the  author,  or  to  increase  his  readers. 
Many  of  their  most  splendid  articles  were  essays  rather 
than  reviews.  The  writer  whose  work  aflTorded  the 
name  of  the  subject  was  summarily  disposed  of  in  a 
quiet  sneer,  a  terse  sarcasm,  or  a  faint  panegyTit,  and 
the  remainder  of  the  article  hardly  recognized  his  exist- 
ence. It  is  to  these  purely  original  contributions,  \vritten 
by  men  of  the  first  order  of  talent,  that  the  Review 
owes  most  of  its  reputation ;  and  their  frequent  appear- 
ance has  exalted  it  above  all  other  periodicals  of  the  age, 
and  has  atoned  for  its  frequent  injustice  to  authors,  its 
numerous  inconsistencies,  and  its  many  supposed  here 
sies  in  taste,  philosophy  and  religion. 


12  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

Among  the  many  noted  critics  and  essayists  who 
have  made  the  great  quarterly  their  medium  of  commu- 
nication with  the  public,  there  is  none  who  has  obtained 
a  wider  celebrity,  or  justified  his  popularity  by  composi- 
tions of  more  intrinsic  excellence,  than  Thomas  Babing- 
ton  Macaulay.  He  began  to  contribute  to  the  Review 
when  it  appeared  to  be  passing  from  the  green  into  the 
yellow  leaf  of  public  favor,  and  his  articles  commanded 
immediate  attention,  and  gave  it  new  life  and  brilliancy. 
The  estimation  in  which  he  was  early  held  is  evinced 
by  the  remark  of  Mackintosh,  that  he  was  master  of 
every  species  of  composition,  —  a  saying  which  obtained 
for  both  a  clumsy  sneer  from  Blackwood's  Magazine. 
From  the  year  1825  to  the  present  period,  Macaulay  has 
continued  his  connection  with  the  Review.  There  prob- 
ably never  was  a  series  of  articles  communicated  to  a 
periodical,  which  can  challenge  comparison  with  those 
of  Macaulay  for  effectiveness.  They  are  characterized 
by  many  of  the  qualities  of  heart  and  mind  which  stamp 
the  productions  of  an  Edinburgh  reviewer ;  but  in  the 
combination  of  various  excellences,  they  far  excel  the 
finest  efforts  of  the  class.  As  nimble  and  concise  in  wit 
as  Sydney  Smith  ;  an  eye  quick  to  seize  all  those  deli- 
cate refinements  of  language,  and  happy  turns  of  expres- 
sion, which  charm  us  in  Jeffrey  ;  displaying  much  of  the 
imperious  scorn,  passionate  strength,  and  swelling  diction, 
of  Brougham  :  as  brilliant,  and  as  acute  in  critical  dis- 
section, as  Hazlitt,  without  his  unsoundness  of  mind ;  at 
times  evincing  a  critical  judgment  which  would  not  dis- 
grace the  stern  gravity  of  Hallam,  and  a  range  of  thought 
and  knowledge  which  reminds  us  of  Mackintosh, — 
Macaulay  seems  to  be  the  abstract  and  epitome  of  the 
whole  journal,  —  seems  the  utmost  that  an  Edinburgh 


MACAULAT.  13 

reviewer  "can  come  to."  He  delights  every  one — high 
or  low,  intelligent  or  ignorant.  His  spice  is  of  so  keen 
a  flavor,  that  it  tickles  the  coarsest  palate.  He  has  the 
hesitating  suffrages  of  men  of  taste,  and  the  plaudits  of 
the  million.  The  man  who  has  a  common  knowledge 
of  the  English  language,  and  the  scholar  who  has 
mastered  its  refinements,  seem  equally  sensible  to  the 
charm  of  his  diction.  No  matter  how  unpromising  the 
subject  on  which  he  writes  may  appear  to  the  common 
eye,  in  his  hands  it  is  made  pleasing.  Statistics, 
history,  biography,  political  economy,  all  suffer  a  trans- 
formation into  "  something  rich  and  strange."  Prosaists 
are  made  to  love  poetry,  tory  politicians  to  sympathize 
with  Hampden  and  Milton,  and  novel-readers  to  obtain 
some  idea  of  Bacon  and  his  philosophy.  The  wonderful 
clearness,  point  and  vigor,  of  his  style,  send  his  thoughts 
right  into  every  brain.  Indeed,  a  person  who  is  utterly 
insensible  to  the  witchery  of  Macaulay's  diction  must 
be  either  a  Yahoo  or  a  beatified  intelligence. 

Some  of  the  causes  of  this  wide  and  general  popular- 
ity may  be  discerned  in  a  very  superficial  survey  of 
Macaulay's  writings.  The  brilliancy  which  is  diffused 
over  them  all,  the  felicity  of  their  style,  and  the  strong 
mental  qualities  which  are  displayed  in  their  conception 
and  composition,  strike  us  at  a  glance.  Every  page  is 
brightened  with  wit,  ennobled  by  sentiment,  freighted 
with  knowledge,  or  decorated  with  imagery.  Thought 
is  conveyed  with  equal  directness  and  clearness.  Knowl- 
edge, and  important  principles  generalized  from  knowl- 
edge, are  scattered  with  careless  ease  and  prodigality, 
as  though  they  would  liardly  be  missed  in  the  fulness  of 
mind  from  which  they  proceed.  History  is  made  a  pic- 
ture, flushed  with  the  hues  of  the  imagination,  and  illu- 


14  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

minated  with  the  constant  flashes  of  a  never-failing  wit 
Compression,  arrangement,  proportion,  —  all  the  arts  of 
which  an  accomplished  rhetorician  avails  himself  to  give 
effect  to  his  composition, — are  used  with  a  tact  and  taste 
which  conceal  from  us  the  appearance  of  labor  and  re- 
flection. The  intricate  questions  of  criticism  and  philos- 
ophy, the  characters  and  actions  of  distinguished  men, — 
poetry,  history,  political  economy,  king-craft,  meta- 
physics, —  are  all  discussed  with  unhesitating  confi- 
dence, and  without  the  slightest  admixture  of  the  ped- 
antry of  scholarship.  Minute  researches  into  disputed 
points  of  history  and  biography,  large  speculations  on  the 
most  important  subjects  of  human  thought,  seem  equally 
to  be  the  element  in  which  the  mind  of  the  author 
moves.  In  convicting  Mr.  Croker  of  ignorance  in  unim- 
portant dates,  in  giving  a  philosophical  view  of  the 
progress  of  society,  in  analyzing  the  mental  constitution 
of  the  greatest  poets,  in  spreading  before  the  mind  a 
comprehensive  view  of  systems  in  metaphysics,  politics, 
and  religion,  he  appears  equally  at  home.  His  eye  is 
both  microscopic  and  telescopic ;  conversant  at  once  with 
the  animalculse  of  society  and  letters,  and  the  larger 
objects  of  human  concern.  Every  felicity  of  expression 
which  can  add  grace  to  his  style,  is  studiously  sought 
after  and  happily  introduced.  Illustrations,  sometimes 
drawn  from  nature,  but  generally  from  a  vast  mass  of 
well-digested  reading,  are  poured  lavishly  forth,  without 
overwhelming  what  they  illustrate.  The  attention  of 
the  reader  is  continually  provoked  by  the  pungent  stim- 
ulants which  are  mixed  in  the  composition  of  almost 
every  sentence;  and  the  most  careless  and  listless  person 
who  fiver  slrpt  over  a  treatise  on  philosophy,  cannot  faiJ 


IIACAULAT.  15 

to  find  matter,  or  manner,  which  rouses  him  from  mental 
torpidity,  and  pleases  him  into  pupilage. 

If  Macaulay  thus  obtains  popularity  in  quarters  where 
it  is  generally  denied  to  thinkers,  and  monopolized  by 
the  last  new  novel,  he  is  not  the  less  calculated  to  win 
golden  opinions  froiri  readers  of  judgment  and  reflection. 
Behind  the  external  show  and  glittering  vesture  of  his 
thoughts,  —  beneath  all  his  pomp  of  diction,  aptness  of 
illustration,  splendor  of  imagery,  and  epigrammatic  point 
and  glare,  —  a  careful  eye  can  easily  discern  the  move- 
ment of  a  powerful  and  cultivated  intellect,  as  it  success- 
ively appears  in  the  well-trained  logician,  the  discrimi- 
nating critic,  the  comprehensive  thinker,  the  practical 
and  fur-sighted  statesman,  and  the  student  of  universal 
knowledge.  Perhaps  the  extent  of  Macaulay's  range 
over  the  field  of  literature  and  science,  and  the  boldness 
of  his  generalizations,  are  the  most  striking  qualities  he 
displays.  The  amount  of  his  knowledge  surprises  even 
bt/ok-worms,  memory-mongers,  and  other  literary  cor- 
morants. It  comprises  all  literatures,  and  all  depart- 
ments of  learning  and  literature.  It  touches  Scarron  on 
one  side  and  Plato  on  the  other.  He  seems  master  of 
every  subject  of  human  interest,  and  of  many  more  sul> 
jects  which  only  he  can  make  interesting.  He  can 
battle  theologians  with  weapons  drawn  from  antique 
armories  unknown  to  themselves ;  sting  pedants  with  his 
wit,  and  then  overthrow  them  with  a  profusion  of  trivial 
«nd  recondite  learning;  oppose  statesmen  on  the  practi- 
cal and  theoretical  questions  of  political  science  ;  brow- 
beat political  economists  on  their  own  vantage-ground  ; 
be  apparently  victorious  in  matters  of  pure  reason  in  an 
argument  with  reasoning  machines;  follow  historians, 
step  by  step,  in  their  most  minute  resear  ;lies,  and  adduce 


16  ESSAYS   AND  REVIEWS. 

facts  and  principles  which  they  have  overlooked ;  silence 
metaphysicians  by  a  glib  condensation  of  all  theories  of 
the  mind,  and  convict  them  of  ignorance  out  of  Plato, 
Aristotle,  Locke,  or  any  other  philosopher  they  may 
happen  to  deify ;  and  perform  the  whole  with  a  French 
lightness  and  ease  of  expression,  which  never  before  was 
used  to  convey  so  much  vigor  and  reach  of  thought, 
and  so  large  and  heavy  a  load  of  information.  His 
rapidity  of  manner,  —  at  periods  falling  to  flippancy  and 
pertness,  as  well  as  rising  to  vivid  and  impassioned  elo- 
quence, —  is  calculated  to  deceive  many  into  the  belief  that 
he  is  shallow ;  but  no  conclusion  could  be  more  incor- 
rect ;  though,  from  the  time-honored  connection  between 
learning  and  dulness,  no  conclusion  is  more  natural. 
Macaulay's  morbidly  keen  sense  of  the  ludicrous  pre- 
vents him  from  manifesting  any  of  the  pompous  pedantry 
and  foolish  vanities  of  the  lore-proud  student,  but  rather 
sends  him  to  the  opposite  extreme.  His  mind  re-acts  on 
all  that  passes  into  it.  He  possesses  his  knowledge,  —  not 
his  knowledge  him.  It  does  not  oppress  his  intellect  in 
the  least,  but  is  stored  away  in  compact  parcels,  ready 
at  any  time  for  use.  It  is  no  weltering  chaos  of  undi- 
gested learning,  stumbling  into  expression  in  bewildered 
and  bewildering  language,  as  is  much  which  passes  for 
great  erudition ;  but  it  goes  through  the  alembic  of  a 
strong  understanding,  —  it  is  subjected  to  the  scrutiny  of 
a  discriminating  and  weighty  judgment,  unshackled  by 
authority,  —  it  is  made  to  glow  and  glitter  in  the  rays  of 
a  vivid  fancy.  He  tears  away  all  that  cumbrous  phrase- 
ology which  encases  and  obscures  common  truths,  and 
which  fccares  many  good  people  into  the  belief  that  stale 
truisms  are  abstruse  mysteries.  He  is  not  deluded  by 
great  names  and  "  standard  "  books  :  his  judgment  is  un 


MACAULAY.  17 

trammelled  by  accredited  opinions  on  taste,  morals,  gov- 
ernment and  religion;  the  heavy  panoply  of  learning 
encumbers  not  the  free  play  of  his  mind ;  he  has  none 
of  the  silly  pride  of  intellect  and  erudition,  but  he  seems 
rather  to  consider  authors  as  men  who  are  determined  to 
make  a  fool  of  him  if  they  can  ;  he  haughtily  disputes 
their  opinions,  and  treats  their  unfounded  pretensions 
with  mocking  scorn ;  and  he  delights  to  cram  tomes  of 
diluted  facts  into  one  short,*sharp,  antithetical  sentence, 
and  condense  general  principles  into  epigrams.  Few 
scholars  have  manifested  so  much  independence  and 
affluence  of  thought,  in  connection  with  so  rich  and  va- 
ried an  amount  of  knowledge. 

As  a  critic  of  poetry  and  general  literature,  Macaulay 
manifests  considerable  depth  of  feeling;  a  fine  sense  of 
the  beautiful ;  a  quick  sensibility ;  acuteness  in  discern- 
ing the  recondite  as  well  as  predominating  qualities  of 
an  author's  mind,  and  setting  them  forth  in  clear,  direct 
and  pointed  expression  ;  and  a  comprehensive  and  pene- 
trating judgment,  unfettered  by  any  rules  unfounded  in 
the  nature  of  things.  Intellectual  and  moral  sjrmpa- 
thy,  the  prominent  quality  of  a  good  poetical  critic,  he 
possesses  to  as  great  a  degree  as  could  be  expected,  or 
perhaps  tolerated,  in  an  Edinburgh  reviewer.  He  over- 
rules or  reverses,  with  the  most  philosophical  coolness, 
many  of  the  decisions  made  by  Jeffrey,  and  other  hang- 
ing judges  among  his  predecessors  ;  and  awards  justice 
to  many  whom  they  petulantly  or  basely  condemned. 
For  great  authors,  for  the  crowned  kings  of  thought,  for 
many  poets  who  labor  under  the  appellation  of  irregular 
geniuses,  for  statesmen  of  broad  views  and  powerful 
energies,  he  can  expend  a  large  amount  of  sympathy, 
and  in  praise  of  their  merits  indulge  in  an  almost  un- 
2 


18  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS, 

broken  strain  of  panegyric ;  but  for  small  writers  he  has 
little  sympathy,  toleration,  or  charity.  The  articles  on 
Milton,  Machiavelli,  Bacon,  Dryden,  Byron,  —  the  inci- 
dental references  to  Dante,  Wordsworth,  Shelley,  Alfieri, 
Burke,  Coleridge,  —  all  display  an  ardent  love  of  intel- 
lectual excellence,  and  a  liberal  and  catholic  taste.  In 
other  essays,  as  those  on  Sir  William  Temple,  Clive 
Hastings,  Hampden,  Mirabeau,  Frederick  the  Great, 
Macaulay  shows  an  equal  ^ower  of  judging  of  men  of 
action,  and  summing  up  impartially  the  merits  and 
defects  of  their  characters  and  lives.  Before  all  that 
is  great  in  intellect  and.  conduct,  he  bends  the  knee  in 
willing  homage,  and  praises  with  unforced  and  vivid 
eloquence.  The  articles  on  Milton  and  Hampden  are 
noble  monuments  to  the  genius  and  virtue  of  the  first, 
and  the  virtue  and  talents  of  the  last.  Throughout  both, 
we  see  a  strong,  hearty,  earnest,  sympathizing  spirit,  in 
unchecked  action.  The  keenness  of  judgment,  likewise, 
displayed  in  separating  the  bad  from  the  good,  in  the 
intellectual  and  moral  constitution  of  many  of  his  favor- 
ites among  men  of  action  and  speculation,  and  tracing 
their  errors  of  taste  and  faults  of  conduct  to  their  true 
outward  or  inward  source,  is  worthy  of  all  admiration. 
The  sharp  analysis  which  stops  only  at  the  truth,  is  used 
with  unsparing  rigor  in  cases  where  enthusiastic  apology 
would,  in  a  scholar,  be  merely  an  amiable  weakness. 
What  Macaulay  sees  is  not  "  distorted  and  refracted 
through  a  false  medium  of  passions  and  prejudices,"  but 
is  discerned  with  clearness,  and  in  "dry  light."  He 
sacrifices  the  whole  body  of  ancient  philosophers  at  the 
shrine  of  Bacon;  but  he  discriminates  with  unerring 
accuracy  between  Bacon  the  philosopher,  and  Bacon  the 
politician,  "  Bacon  seeking  truth,  and  Bacon  seeking  for 


MAC A PLAY.  19 

the  seals."  He  blushes  for  the  "  disingcnuousness  of  the 
most  devoted  worshipper  of  speculative  truth,  and  the 
servility  of  the  boldest  champion  of  intellectual  free- 
dom ; "  and  remembers  that  if  Bacon  was  the  first  "  who 
treated  legislation  as  a  science,  he  was  among  the  last 
^inglishmen  who  used  the  rack ;  that  he  who  first  sum- 
Boned  philosophers  to  the  great  work  of  interpreting 
nature,  was  among  the  last  Englishmen  who  sold  jus- 
tice." "The  transparent  splendor  of  Cicero's  incom- 
parable diction,"  does  not  blind  Macaulay  to  the  fact, 
that  the  great  orator's  whole  life  "  was  under  the  domin- 
ion of  a  girlish  vanity  and  a  craven  fear."  His  respect 
for  Frederick's  military  character  extends  not  to  his 
rhymes,  but  he  treats  them  with  as  much  disrespect  as 
if  they  had  proceeded  from  the  merest  hack  that  ever 
butchered  language  into  bathos,  or  diluted  it  into  senti- 
mentality. This  absence  of  idol-worship  in  Macaulay 
adds  much  to  the  value  of  his  opinions  and  investiga- 
tions, but  at  times  it  gives  a  kind  of  heartlessness  to  his 
manner,  which  grates  upon  the  sensibility.  In  proportion 
as  his  praise  is  eloquent  and  hearty  for  what  is  noble  and 
great  in  character,  his  scorn  is  severe  lor  what  is  little 
and  mean.  In  the  dissection  he  makes  of  Bacon's  moral 
character,  and  the  cool  unconcern  with  which  he  lays 
open  to  view  his  manifold  frailties,  we  are  often  led  to 
ask  with  Hamlet,  "  Has  this  fellow  no  feeling  of  his  busi- 
ness ?  "  In  considering  the  lives  of  men  of  lofty  endow- 
ments, we  are  often  better  pleased  with  the  charity  that 
covers  a  multitude  of  sins,  than  the  stem  justice  which 
parades  them  in  the  light,  and  holds  them  up  to  abhor- 
rence. 

But  if  great  men  receive  more  justice  than  mercy  from 
Macaulay,  men  of  low  intellectual  stature  fare  worse. 


ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS. 


He  here  manifests  a  spirit  akin  to  Faulconbridge  and 
Hc.tspur.  There  is  no  critic  who  is  less  tolerant  of 
mediocrity.  For  half-bred  reasoners,  for  well-meaning 
and  bad-writing  theologians,  for  undeveloped  geniuses, 
for  pompous  pedantry,  for  respectable  stupidity,  for  every 
variety  of  the  tame,  the  frigid,  and  the  low,  he  has  aa 
imperious  and  crushing  contempt.  There  are  many 
writers,  also,  who  have  a  good  reputation  among  what 
are  termed  men  of  taste,  and  whose  works  are,  or  should 
be,  "  on  the  shelves  of  every  gentleman's  library,"  whom 
he  treats  with  a  cool  arrogance  which  shocks  the  nerves 
not  a  little.  His  critical  severity  almost  actualizes  the 
ideal  of  critical  damnation.  There  is  no  show  of  mercy 
in  him.  He  carries  his  austerity  beyond  the  bounds  of 
humanity.  His  harshness  to  the  captive  of  his  criticism 
is  a  tmnsgression  of  the  law  against  cruelty  to  animals. 
Among  a  squad  of  bad  writers  —  if  the  simile  be  allow- 
able —  he  seems  to  exclaim  with  the  large-boned  quad- 
ruped that  danced  among  the  chickens,  "  Let  every  one 
take  care  of  himself ! "  He  is  both  judge  and  execu 
tioner ;  condemns  the  prisoner,  —  puts  on  the  black  cap 
with  a  stinging  sneer,  —  hangs,  quarters,  and  scatters 
his  limbs  to  the  four  winds,  —  without  any  appearance 
of  pity  or  remorse.  He  subjects  the  commonplace,  the 
stupid,  the  narrow-minded,  to  every  variety  of  critical 
torture ;  he  riddles  them  with  epigrams,  he  racks  them 
with  analysis,  he  scorches  them  with  sarcasm  ;  he  probes 
their  most  delicate  and  sensitive  nerves  with  the  glitter- 
ing edge  of  his  wit ;  he  breathes  upon  them  the  hot 
breath  of  his  scorn ;  he  crushes  and  grinds  them  in  the 
whirling  mill  of  his  logic  ;  over  the  burning  marl  of  his 
critical  Pandemonium  he  makes  them  walk  with  unsan 
dalled  feet,  and  views  their  ludicrous  agonies  with  mock 


MACAULAT.  81 

mg  glee.  All  otker  reviewers  are  babes  to  him.  A 
heretic  in  the  grasp  of  a  holy  father  of  the  Inquisition, — 
a  pauper  who  has  incurred  the  displeasure  of  the  parish 
beadle,  —  a  butterfly  in  the  hands  of  a  man  of  science, —^ 
all  have  reason  to  be  thankful  that  destiny  has  saved 
them  from  the  torment  which  awaits  the  dunce  who  has 
fallen  into  the  clutch  of  Macaulay. 

If  murdered  books  could  burst  their  cerements,  and 
revisit  the  earth  to  haunt  their  destroyers,  the  sleep  of 
Thomas  Babington  Macaulay  would  be  peopled  with 
more  phantoms  than  the  slumbers  of  Richard  the  Third. 
A  collection  of  the  authors  from  the  middle  and  lower 
classes  of  literature,  which  this  Nimrod  of  criticism,  — 
this  death-angel,  Azrael,  of  letters  —  has  sent  to  their 
long  account,  would  somewhat  resemble  the  "  circle  in  a 
parlor,"  mentioned  in  Peter  Bell :  — 

"  Crammed  just  as  they  on  earth  were  crammed : 
Some  sipping  punch,  some  sipping  tea, 
But,  as  you  by  their  faces  see, 
All  silent  —  and  all  damned  !  " 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  other  motives  than  those  which 
spring  from  an  offended  taste  sometimes  influence 
Macaulay's  critical  decisions.  Political  hostility,  and 
the  bitterness  of  feeling  it  naturally  engenders,  may  be 
supposed  to  have  edged  much  of  the  cutting  sarcasm 
which  is  used  so  pitilessly  in  the  wholesale  condemna- 
tion of  John  Wilson  Croker's  edition  of  Boswell's  John- 
son. The  purity  of  the  critical  ermine,  like  that  of  the 
judicial,  is  often  soiled  by  contact  with  politics. 

There  is  one  quality  of  Macaulay's  nature,  and  that, 
perhaps,  the  best,  which  is  deserving  of  lavish  eulogium, 
— his  intense  love  of  liberty,  and  his  hearty  hatred  of 
despotism.     Few  authors  have  wTitten  moie  eloquently 


22  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

of  freedom,  or  paid  truer  and  nobler  homage  to  its  advo- 
cates and  martyrs  ;  and  few  have  opened  hotter  vials  of 
wrath  upon  bigotry,  tyranny,  and  all  forms  of  legislative 
fraud.  Tyranny  is  associated  in  his  mind  with  all  that 
is  mean  and  hateful.  In  sweeping  its  pretensions  from 
his  path,  in  tasking  every  faculty  of  his  intellect  to 
search  and  shame  the  narrow  hearts  of  its  apologists, 
"  his  rhetoric  becomes  a  whirlwind,  and  his  logic,  fire." 
His  denunciation  is  frequently  awful,  in  its  depth,  and 
earnestness,  and  crushing  force.  He  holds  no  quarter 
with  his  opponents,  and  wars  to  the  knife.  His  consum- 
mate dialectical  skill,  his  unbounded  sway  over  language, 
his  wide  grasp  of  thought  and  knowledge,  the  full  strength 
of  his  passions,  and  the  utmost  splendor  of  his  imagina- 
tion, are  ever  ready  at  the  call  of  free  principles  to  perform 
any  needed  service, — to  unmask  the  specious  forms  of 
disguised  despotism,  to  overthrow  and  trample  under  foot 
the  injustice  which  has  lied  itself  into  axioms.  He  then 
becomes  enthusiastic  and  wholly  in  earnest,  and  his  elo- 
quence, in  its  torrent-like  rush  and  fierce  sweep,  resembles 
that  which  he  has  so  happily  described  as  characterizing 
the  forensic  efforts  of  Fox — reason  penetrated,  and,  as  it 
were,  made  red-hot  with  passion.  In  numerous  passages 
of  his  articles  on  Milton,  Church  and  State,  Constitutional 
History,  and  Hampden ;  and,  especially,  in  the  review  of 
Southey's  Colloquies  on  Society ;  he  reasons  with  all 
the  force  and  fire  of  declamation.  Imagination,  fancy, 
sensibility,  seem  all  fused  into  his  understanding.  His 
illustrations  are  analogies  ;  his  images  arc  pictorial  argu- 
ments ;  the  most  gorgeous  trappings  of  his  rhetoric  are 
ridiant  with  thought.  His  intellectual  eye  pierces 
instantly  beneath  the  shows  of  things  to  the  things 
themselves,  and  seems  almost  to  behold  truth  in  clear 


MACAULAY.  23 

Vision.  In  boldness  of  thought,  in  intellectual  hardihood 
and  daring,  in  vehement  strength  of  soul,  he  excels  most 
of  the  liberal  statesmen  of  Europe.  His  essays  are  full 
of  propositions  which  not  a  few  honorable  members  of 
Congress  would  shrink  from  supporting,  and  yet  there  is 
in  his  writings  an  entire  absence  of  all  the  cant  and 
maudlin  affectation  of  mouth-worshippers  of  freedom. 
Many  passages  might  be  selected,  as  indicating  the 
liberality  and  clearness  of  his  views  respecting  the  just 
powers  of  government,  and  the  rights  of  the  governed. 
His  opinions  on  the  union  of  Church  and  State,  show 
great  comprehensiveness  of  thought,  and  extent  of 
information.  The  advocates  of  the  necessary  connection 
between  a  good  government  and  an  established  church 
are  opposed  with  the  full  strength  of  his  intellect  and 
passions.  The  whole  history  of  the  Christian  religion 
shows,  he  says,  that  "  she  is  in  far  greater  dangei  of 
being  corrupted  by  the  alliance  of  power  than  of  being 
crushed  by  its  opposition.  Those  who  thrust  temporal 
sovereignty  upon  her  treat  her  as  their  prototypes  treated 
her  Author.  They  bow  the  knee  and  spit  upon  her ; 
they  cry  Hail !  and  smite  her  on  the  cheek  ;  they  put  a 
sceptre  into  her  hand,  but  it  is  a  fragile  reed  ;  they 
crown  her,  but  it  is  with  thorns ;  they  cover  with  purple 
the  wounds  which  their  own  hands  have  inflicted  upon 
her,  and  inscribe  magnificent  titles  over  the  cross  on 
which  they  have  fixed  her  to  pcrisli  in  ignominy  and 
pain." 

The  imperious  scorn,  the  bitter  hatred,  the  unalloyed 
detestation,   he    feels    for    the    meanness   and    manifold 
infamies  which  followed  in  the  train  of  the  "gloriou 
restoration"  of  Charles  II.,  inspire  many  a  passage  of 
vigorous  argument,  and  glow  and  burn  beneath  many  a 


84  ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS. 

sentence  of  splendid  rhetoric.  After  paying  an  eloquen 
tribute  to  the  virtue,  the  valor,  the  religious  fervor,  of  the 
Puritans,  who  wrought  the  first  English  revolution,  he 
bursts  out  in  a  strain  of  indignant  rebuke  of  the  succeed- 
ing social  and  political  enormities  which  paved  the  way 
to  the  second.  "  Then  came  those  days  never  to  be 
mentioned  without  a  blush  —  the  days  of  servitude  with- 
out loyalty,  and  sensuality  without  love ;  of  dwarfish 
talents  and  gigantic  vices ;  the  paradise  of  cold  hearts 
and  narrow  minds ;  the  golden  age  of  the  coward,  the 
bigot  and  the  slave.  The  king,  cringing  to  his  rival  that 
he  might  trample  on  his  people,  sank  into  a  viceroy  of 
France,  and  pocketed,  with  complacent  infamy,  her 
degrading  insults  and  more  degrading  gold.  The 
caresses  of  harlots  and  the  jests  of  buffoons  regulated  the 
measures  of  a  government  which  had  just  ability  enough 
to  deceive,  and  just  religion  enough  to  persecute.  The 
principles  of  liberty  were  the  scoff  of  every  grinning 
courtier,  and  the  Anathema  Maranatha  of  every  fawning 
dean.  In  every  high  place,  worship  was  paid  to  Charles 
and  James  —  Belial  and  Moloch  ;  and  England  propiti- 
ated these  obscene  and  cruel  idols  with  the  blood  of  her 
best  and  bravest  children.  Crime  succeeded  to  crime,  and 
disgrace  to  disgrace,  till  the  race  accursed  of  God  and  man 
was  a  second  time  driven  forth,  to  wander  on  the  face  of 
the  earth,  and  to  be  a  byword  and  a  shaking  of  the  head 
to  the  nations."  Not  less  severe  is  he  upon  the  literature 
of  that  period.  "  A  deep  and  general  taint  infected  the 
morals  of  the  most  influential  classes,  and  spread  itself 
through  every  province  of  letters.  Poetry  inflamed  the 
passions ;  philosophy  undermined  the  principles ;  divinity 
itself,  inculcating  an  abject  reverence  for  the  court,  gave 
additional  effect  to  its  licentious  example.     The  excesses 


MAC  AULA  Y.  25 

of  the  age  remind  iis  of  the  humors  of  a  gang  of  footpads, 
revelUng  with  their  favorite  beauties  at  a  flash-house. 
In  the  fashionable  libertinism,  there  is  a  hard,  cold 
ferocity,  an  impudence,  a  lowness,  a  dirtiness,  which 
can  be  paralleled  only  among  the  heroes  and  heroines  of 
that  filthy  and  heartless  literature  which  encouraged  it." 
Macaulay,  likewise,  is  honest  beyond  most  English 
writers  in  his  view  of  the  revolution  which  dethroned 
Charles  I. ;  and  points  out  the  inconsistencies  of  that 
class  of  religionists  and  politicians  who,  "  on  the  fifth  of 
November,  thank  God  for  wonderfully  conducting  his 
servant  King  William,  and  for  making  all  opposition  fall 
before  him  until  he  became  our  king  and  governor !  — 
and  on  the  thirtieth  of  Januar}-^  contrive  to  be  afraid  that 
the  blood  of  the  royal  martyr  may  be  visited  on  them- 
selves and  children."  Indeed,  he  always  brings  to  the 
task  of  commenting  on  the  historj'  of  his  own  country,  a 
comprehensiveness  of  view,  a  freedom  from  prejudice,  a 
love  for  free  principles,  and  a  picturesqueness  and  energy 
of  diction,  which  make  his  historical  essays  among  the 
most  fascinating  of  compositions. 

Yet,  with  all  his  fondness  for  speculative  truth,  with 
all  his  deep  sense  and  detestation  of  injustice  and  corrup- 
tion, with  all  his  fine  perception  of  the  harmonious  and 
true  in  literature  and  laws,  there  is  hardly  any  states- 
man more  thoroughly  practical  than  Macaulay.  He  can 
sympathize  with  the  great  works  of  imagination,  and  his 
rhetoric  revels  in  their  praise  and  illustration ;  but  he 
sympathizes  with  them  merely  as  works  of  imagination, 
and  he  carries  but  few  of  his  idealities  into  his  view  of 
actual  life  and  established  government.  He  tolerates  no 
writer  whose  sensibility  and  imagination  are  predominant 
in  discussing  questions  of  national   policy,  of  finance. 


96  ESSAxS   AND   REVIEWS. 

manufactures,  commerce  or  laws ;  he  allows  the  intro 
duction  of  no  Utopias  into  the  living,  breathing,  sinning 
world  of  Fact.  No  mercy  is  shown  to  those  who  treat 
government  as  a  fine  art,  and  "judge  of  it  as  they  would 
of  a  statue  or  picture ;"  and  the  mental  constitution  of 
political  philosophers,  who  erect  theories  out  of  materials 
furnished  from  other  sources  than  reason  and  observation, 
is  analyzed  with  unrivalled  dexterity  and  discrimination. 
All  rant  about  the  rights  of  man,  all  whining  and 
whimpering  about  the  clashing  interests  of  body  and 
soul,  are  treated  with  haughty  scorn,  or  made  the  butt  of 
contemptuous  ridicule.  Society  is  viewed  as  it  is,  and 
principles  accommodated  to  the  existing  state  of  things. 
No  man  is  denounced  for  acting  or  thinking  in  the  six- 
teenth century  what  the  sixteenth  century  acted  and 
thought,  or  attacked  because  he  did  not  accommodate  his 
conduct  to  the  principles  of  the  nineteenth.  To  the  dis- 
cussion of  all  practical  questions,  he  brings  a  practical 
logic,  and  an  experience  grounded  on  observation  of  the 
actual  world.  He  would  belong  to  that  party  which  is 
just  enough  in  advance  of  the  age  to  be  useful  to  it. 
But  if  he  has  little  respect  for  impracticable  theories  of 
freedom,  neither  will  he  hold  any  terms  with  theoretical 
advocates  or  apologists  of  oppression.  After  scattering 
all  arguments  for  a  political  institution,  he  often  opposes 
its  demolition,  from  expediency.  He  never  allows  the 
majesty  of  reason  to  be  insulted  with  the  thin  sophisms 
used  in  palliation  or  defence  of  political  and  sociaJ 
abuses;  but  he  is  too  little  of  an  idealist  in  politic* 
to  suppose  that,  because  those  abuses  are  unfounded 
in  reason,  they  are  necessarily  and  altogether  pemi 
cious,  and  should  be   immediately   overthrown.      Hit 


MACATILAY.  87 

enthusiasm  and  imagination  march  in  tlie  train  of  his 
understanding,  and  never  lead  when  tlicy  should  follow. 
After  so  wide  a  survey  of  Macaulay's  merits,  it  is  no 
more  than  proper  to  add  some  few  remarks  on  his  faults 
and  deficiencies.  These  are  few  or  many,  as  different 
tastes  may  decide.  His  marked  mannerism  of  style 
would  offend  some  ;  while  others  would  bring  against 
him  the  charge  of  being  too  much  of  the  earth,  earthy. 
Many  might  object  to  him,  that  his  incessant  brilliancy 
sometimes  fatigues  in  the  limits  of  an  essay,  and  would 
be  as  intolerable  as  dulness  itself  in  a  volume ;  that,  in 
attempting  to  give  vividness  to  his  diction,  he  is  often 
overstrained  and  extravagant,  and  that  his  epigrammatic 
style  seems  better  fitted  for  the  glitter  of  paradox  than 
the  sober  guise  of  truth  ;  that  he  manifests  too  much 
dogmatism  and  superciliousness  in  discussion,  and  that 
propositions  which  lie  across  the  path  of  his  argument 
are  too  frequently  disposed  of  by  assertion  instead  of 
reasoning;  that,  with  all  his  skill  in  dialectics,  there  are 
occasions  in  which  he  betrays  a  lack  of  logical  honesty, 
and  takes  "  truisms  for  his  premises  and  paradox  for  his 
conclusion ;"  that  too  much  of  the  inspiration  of  his  wit 
comes  from  scorn  and  contempt,  and  is  little  restrained 
by  kindliness  of  temper;  that  high  philosophy  and 
religion,  in  his  wTitings,  are  rather  considered  as  sub- 
jects for  curious  investigation,  than  as  guidet  'x>  life ; 
that,  with  all  his  vehemence  and  intellectual  hardihood 
in  the  cause  of  liberty,  and  the  deep-toned  passion  with 
which  he  denounces  tyranny  and  its  corruptions,  there 
is  still  little  which  shows  a  disposition  to  shed  blood  as 
well  as  inJi  in  defence  of  free  principles  ;  that,  with  con- 
siderable power  in  painting  martyrdom  in  alluring  colors, 
and  with  a  high  respect  for  those  who  bravely  meet  with- 


2S  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

out  /anatically  seeking  it,  he  is  still  not  the  man  whom 
we  might  ever  expect  to  see  at  the  stake,  or  to  behold 
starving  on  freedom ;  that,  as  an  essayist  and  critic,  he 
has  not  the  benignity  of  disposition,  the  quiet  tenderness, 
thfi  calm  beauty,  of  Talfourd,  nor  the  intense  brooding 
spirit,  the  inwardness,  the  "  solemn  agony,"  of  Carlyle ; 
all  these,  and  many  more  objections,  might  be  brought 
against  Macaulay, — some  of  them  true,  some  overstated 
some  unimportant,  and  none  which  should  overbalance 
his  claims  to  high  rank  among  contemporary  authors. 
The  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  the  prominent  character- 
istic of  Macaulay's  writings,  and  the  source  both  of  his 
merits  and  defects,  may  be  comprised  in  one  word  — 
vigor.  To  this  he  often  sacrifices  simplicity,  and  occa- 
sionally even  strict  truth.  Truisms  he  states  with  all 
the  strength  of  passion ;  common  historical  events  he 
narrates  with  all  the  brilliancy  of  epigram.  He  rarely 
"  possesses  himself  in  any  quietness."  Hence,  with  all 
his  power  of  strong  thought,  he  has  no  thoughtfulness. 
Byron  displays  hardly  more  intensity.  Tediousness  he 
seems  to  consider  as  a  combination  of  the  seven  deadly 
sins  of  rhetoric ;  he  carefully  avoids  it  himself ;  he 
lashes  it  remorselessly  in  others.  He  has  a  nervous 
hatred,  a  fierce,  haughty  contempt,  for  commonplace, 
cant,  feebleness  of  thought,  meanness  of  expression, 
pomposity  of  manner,  —  in  short,  for  all  shapes  and 
shades  of  dulness.  The  common  faults  and  affectations 
of  men  of  letters,  he  carefully  avoids,  and  he  labors  to 
give  all  his  productions  a  cosmopolitan  air.  Nothing 
that  he  writes  is  "  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of 
thought."  The  level  shadow  of  the  Actual,  in  his  mind, 
stretches  far  and  wide  into  the  sunny  tract  of  the  Ideal ; 
and  he  u  as  much  an  utilitarian  as  a  strong  imagination, 


MACAULAY.  29 

ind  a  fine  taste  for  works  of  art,  will  permit.  He  listens 
to  no  voices  from  the  land  of  dreams,  and  never  labors  to 
express  the  inexpressible.  Almost  every  sentence  in  his 
essays  is  clear,  sharp,  pointed,  direct,  pictorial.  He 
never  whines,  although  he  is  not  more  deficient  in  sensi- 
Dility  than  many  authors  who  do  little  else.  His  quick 
sense  of  the  ridiculous  preserves  him  from  cant  and  all 
its  manifold  sins.  To  give  raciness  and  energy  to  his 
style,  he  has  no  hesitation  in  using  phrases  which  young 
ladies  might  consider  inelegant,  and  which  Miss  Betty 
would  pronounce  decidedly  "  low."  His  works  overflow 
with  antithetical  forms  of  expression,  and  thoughts  con- 
densed into  sparkling  epigrams.  The  latter  he  seems  to 
love  with  all  the  affection  which  Shakspeare  had  for 
puns.  Sometimes  they  betray  careful  elaboration  —  at 
others,  they  have  the  suddenness  of  poetical  inspiration. 
His  page  is  brightened  with  them.  Gleaming  over  the 
discussion  of  a  question  of  taste,  like  incessant  flashes 
of  heat-lightning,  —  thrown  off  like  glittering  sparks,  in 
the  rush  of  his  declamatory  logic, — at  one  time  used  as 
the  agreeable  vehicle  to  convey  an  important  truth,  at 
another,  the  shining  armor  in  which  a  paradox  or  a 
sophism  is  impenetrably  encased — they  seem  almost 
native  to  his  mind,  and  he  to  the  "  manor  bom."  There 
are  whole  pages  in  his  \\Titings  which  must  be  inter- 
preted according  to  the  laws  of  epigram,  instead  of  the 
proprieties  of  statement.  That  this  love  for  pointed  dic- 
tion leads  him  into  many  errors,  cannot  be  denied ;  but 
the  blemish  is  so  delightful  that  the  reader  no  more 
thinks  of  making  it  a  matter  for  grave  critical  accusation, 
than  of  quarrelling  with  Congreve  for  his  excess  c»f  wit, 
or  with  Carlyle  for  his  excess  of  spirituality. 

It  may  now  be  a-^kc  d   by  some  sapient  critics,  Why 


30  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

make  all  this  coil  about  a  mere  periodical  essayist  ?  Of 
what  possible  concern  is  it  to  anybody,  whether  Mr, 
Thomas  Babington  Macaulay  be,  or  be  not,  overrun 
vvith  faults,  since  he  is  nothing  more  than  one  of  the 
three-day  immortals,  who  contribute  flashy  and  "  tak- 
ing "  articles  to  a  quarterly  review  ?  What  great  work 
has  he  written  ?  Such  questions  as  these  might  be  put 
by  the  same  men  who  place  the  Spectator,  Tatler  and 
Eambler,  among  the  British  classics,  yet  judge  of  the 
size  of  a  contemporary's  mind  by  that  of  his  book,  and 
who  can  hardly  recognize  amplitude  of  comprehension, 
unless  it  be  spread  over  the  six  hundred  pages  of  octavos 
and  quartos.  Such  men  would  place  Bancroft  above 
Webster,  and  Sparks  above  Calhoun,  Adams  and 
Everett  —  deny  a  posterity  for  Bryant's  Thanatopsis, 
and  predict  longevity  to  PoUok's  Course  of  Time.  It  is 
singular  that  the  sagacity  which  can  discern  thought 
only  in  a  state  of  dilution,  is  not  sadly  gravelled  when  it 
thinks  of  the  sententious  aphorisms  which  have  survived 
whole  libraries  of  folios,  and  the  little  songs  which  have 
outrun,  in  the  race  of  fame,  so  many  enormous  epics. 
While  it  can  easily  be  demonstrated  that  Macaulay's 
writings  contain  a  hundred-fold  more  matter  and  thought 
than  an  equal  number  of  volumes  taken  from  what  are 
called,  par  eminence,  the  "  British  Essayists,"  it  is  not 
broaching  any  literary  heresy  to  predict  that  they  wih 
sail  as  far  down  the  stream  of  time  as  those  eminent 
members  of  the  illustrious  family  of  British  classics. 


POETS  AND  POETRY  OF  AMERICA.* 

This  large  and  well-printed  volume  has  been  domesti- 
cated on  our  table  for  a  long  time,  and  although  not 
publicly  noticed,  has  not  been  forgotten.  A  review  of  it 
has  held,  for  many  months,  a  prominent  place  among 
our  deferred  projects  and  virtuous  intentions.  The  book, 
however,  has  not  thought  proper  to  await  our  judgment 
before  it  commenced  its  tour  of  the  country,  but  has 
quietly  travelled  through  many  States  and  four  editions, 
and  now  returns  our  glance  with  all  the  careless  imperti- 
nence inspired  by  success.  That  fickle-minded  monster, 
called  "  the  reading  public,"  which  sometimes  buys  and 
praises  before  it  receives  its  cue  from  the  reviewer,  has 
taken  the  work  under  its  own  patronage,  and  spread 
before  it  the  broad  shield  of  its  favor,  as  a  protection 
against  the  critical  knife.  We  hope,  nevertheless,  to  be 
able  to  give  it  a  sly  thrust,  here  and  there,  in  places 
where  it  is  still  vulnerable. 

Mr.  Griswold  has  prefixed  to  his  book  an  eloquent, 
hopeful,  and  extenuating  preface.  This  is  followed  by  a 
lively  and  learned  historical  introduction,  displaying 
much  research,  devoted  to  a  consideration  of  the  metrical 
mediocrity  of  the  Colonies.  He  has  disturbed  the  dust 
which  had  mercifully  gathered  around  antiquated  dog- 

*  The  Poeis  and  Poetry  of  America;  with  a  Historical  Introduction.  By 
Uufus  W.  Griswold.  Philadelphia  :  Carey  &  Hart.  8vo.  pp.  xjcvj.  amd  t7& 
—  North  Am^ricun  lievicw,  Januury,  1S44. 


32  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

gerel  and  venerable  bathos,  with  no  reverential  fingers  ; 
and  his  good  taste  has  not  been  choked  or  blinded  by  the 
cloud  he  has  raised.  The  common  fault  of  antiquaries, 
that  of  deeming  puerility  and  meanness  invaluable  be- 
cause they  happen  to  be  scarce  and  old,  and  of  attempt- 
ing to  link  some  deep  meaning  to  what  is  simply  bom- 
bast, affectation,  or  nonsense,  he  has  avoided  with 
commendable  diligence.  He  makes  no  demand  on  our 
charity,  in  favor  of  some  poetaster,  for  whom  he  may 
have  imbibed  a  strange  affection.  He  does  not  estimate 
the  value  of  his  antiquarian  spoils  by  the  labor  and 
money  expended  in  their  acquisition  ;  and  has  emerged 
from  his  resurrectionist  delvings  in  the  grave-yards  of 
rhyme,  without  confounding  moral  distinctions,  vitiating 
his  taste,  or  becoming  imbued  with  any  malevolent 
designs  against  good  composition  or  public  patience. 

The  series  of  selections  and  biographies  begins  with 
Freneau,  and  ends  with  the  Davidsons.  Between  these, 
Mr.  Griswold  has  contrived  to  press  into  the  nominal  ser- 
vice of  the  Muses  no  less  than  eighty-eight  persons,  all 
of  whom,  it  can  be  proved  by  indisputable  evidence,  did 
at  various  periods,  and  inspired  by  different  motives 
exhibit  their  ideas,  or  their  lack  of  ideas,  in  a  metrical 
form.  The  editor  is  well  aware  that  a  strict  definition 
of  poetry  would  shut  out  many  whom  he  has  admitted. 
Much  of  the  verse  in  his  collection  is  not  "  the  creatior* 
of  new  beauty,  the  manifestation  of  the  real  by  the  ideal, 
in  '  words  that  move  in  metrical  array.'  "  It  is  rather 
commonplace,  jingling  its  bells  at  certain  fixed  pauses  in 
its  smooth  or  rugged  march.  To  versify  sermons  is  not  to 
create  beauty  ;  nor  can  good  morality  be  taken  in  apology 
for  threadbare  tropes.  A  morbid  and  uneasy  sensibility 
may  give  a  certain  swell  and  gaudiness  to  diction  m  ith- 


POETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AMERICA  33 

out  the  aid  of  imagination.  A  young  gentleman,  while 
groaning  beneath  some  fancied  woes,  may  ask  for  public 
commiseration  in  the  huslcy  utterance  of  grating  rhyme, 
and  yet  display  no  depth  and  intensity  of  feeling.  We 
think,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Griswold  has  "  been  too  liberal 
of  his  aqueous  mixture  "  in  his  selections.  Some  of  the 
authors  whom  he  has  included  in  the  list  are  unworthy 
of  the  honor  of  having  their  feebleness  thrust  into  notice. 
From  others  of  more  pretensions  he  has  copied  too 
unsparingly.  A  few  of  his  critical  notices  reflect  more 
credit  upon  his  benevolence  than  his  taste.  He  seems 
to  have  fixed  the  price  of  admittance  low,  in  order,  as 
the  show-bills  say,  that  the  public  might  be  more  gener- 
ally accommodated.  Kuig  James  the  First  debased  the 
ancient  order  of  knighthood,  by  laying  his  sword  on  the 
shoulder  of  every  pander  or  buffoon  who  recommended 
himself  by  the  fulness  of  his  purse,  the  readiness  of  his 
jests,  or  the  pliancy  of  his  conscience.  Editors  should 
keep  this  fact  in  mind,  and  extract  from  it  the  warning 
and  admonition  it  is  so  eminently  calculated  to  suggest. 
Although  we  deem  Mr.  Griswold  deserving  of  a  little 
gentle  correction  for  his  literary  beneficence  and  critical 
benignity,  we  are  not  insensible  to  his  merits.  The  work 
before  us  must  have  demanded  the  labor  of  years.  Those 
portions  which  are  intrinsically  the  least  valuable,  un- 
doubtedly cost  the  editor  the  most  toil,  and  afibrded  him 
the  least  gratification.  To  hunt  out  mediocrity  and  feeble- 
ness, and  append  correct  dates  to  their  forgotten  effusions, 
is  an  exercise  of  philanthropy  which  is  likely  to  be  little 
appreciated;  an.l  yet,  in  many  instances,  it  was  neces- 
sary, in  order  to  give  a  fair  reflection  of  the  rhyming 
spirit  of  the  country  and  the  time.  In  the  editor's  wan- 
derings in  some  of  the  secluded  lanes  of  letters,  he  has 
3 


34  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

"escued  from  oblivion  many  poems  of  considerable  value. 
He  has  been  compelled  to  search  for  most  of  his  facts  in 
places  only  accessible  to  perseverance.  Many  of  the 
poets  from  whom  he  has  made  selections  have  never 
published  editions  of  their  writings,  and  have  never 
before  been  honored  with  biographies.  He  might  easily 
have  written  better  poems  than  some  which  he  must 
have  expended  much  time  and  labor  in  obtaining.  The 
vanities  and  jealousies  of  his  band  of  authors  he  was 
compelled  to  take  into  consideration,  and  to  forbear  giv- 
ing them  unnecessary  offence.  Among  all  the  fierce 
enmities  which  a  person  may  provoke  by  sincerely  ex- 
pressing his  opinions,  we  know  of  none  more  dangerous 
than  that  which  follows  from  informing  a  rhyming  scrib- 
bler that  his  fame  will  not  equal  his  ambition,  or  from 
omitting  to  notice  him  at  all,  out  of  commiseration  for  his 
well-meaning  stupidities.  We  think,  therefore,  that  Mr. 
Griswold  has  succeeded  as  well  in  his  book  as  the 
nature  of  the  case  admitted;  that  his  patient  research 
and  general  correctness  of  taste  are  worthy  of  praise ; 
that  .his  difficulties  and  temptations  would  have  exten- 
uated far  graver  errors  than  he  has  committed ;  and  that 
his  volume  well  deserves  the  approbation  it  has  received. 
The  labor  of  editing  this  book  may  be  inferred  from 
the  number  of  writers  quoted,  exclusive  of  those  who 
flourished  previously  to  the  Revolution.  There  are 
^■"ghty-eight  names  on  the  list,  all  of  whom  are  sketched, 
biographically  and  critically ;  and  about  sixty  other 
writers  mentioned  in  the  Appendix,  who  are  not  thus 
honored.  The  editor  has  thus  made  extracts  from  the 
writings  of  nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty  persons,  very 
few  of  whom  have  been  poets  or  prose-writers  by  pro- 
fession.    These  selections  extend  over  a  period  of  sixty 


POETS   AND    POETRY    OF    ARrEllICA.  35 

years,  but  most  of  them  are  comprehended  within  the 
last  twenty. 

We  have  not  been  able  to  find  a  list  of  English  poets 
and  dramatists,  from  Chancer  to  Anstey,  which  contains 
more  than  two  hundred  and  twenty  names.  This 
includes  many  whose  very  names  are  unknown  to  the 
general  reader,  and  many  who  have  not  written  as  well 
as  the  worst  of  our  own  rhymers.  It  extends  over  four 
centuries.  It  contains  such  names  as  Gower,  Lydgate, 
Edwards,  Gascoigne,  Greene,  Watson,  Lyly,  Constable, 
(1568,)  Breton,  Nash,  Quarles,  Nabbes,  Catha»ine  Phil- 
lips, Jasper  Mayne,  Hooke,  Cotton,  (1630,)  Flatman, 
Etherege,  Shadwell,  Stepney,  Lillo,  Savage,  Watts, 
Welsted,  Carey,  Shaw,  Ferguson,  as  well  as  the  emi- 
nent poets  of  each  period.  Indeed,  the  editors  of  selec- 
tions from  the  English  poets,  even  those  who  commence 
with  Chaucer  and  include  the  great  bards  of  the  present 
century,  have  not  thought  proper  to  admit  so  many 
names  as  are  included  in  Mr.  Griswold's  collection ;  and 
at  the  same  time,  they  have  selected  many  pieces  which 
would  confer  no  additional  reputation  upon  Bryant, 
Longfellow,  Willis,  Dana,  Halleck,  Sprague,  Percival,  or 
Drake  ;  and  many  also  which  American  poets,  of  less 
pretensions,  have  excelled.  Pinkney  has  written  as  well, 
to  say  the  least,  as  many  of  the  "mob  of  gentlemen" 
who  were  the  boast  of  the  times  of  Charles  the  First 
and  Charles  the  Second ;  not  so  well  as  Lovelace  and 
Carew,  but  better  than  Sedley,  Etherege,  and  Dorset 
There  are  few  songs,  if  we  except  those  of  Bums  anc 
Moore,  which  have  more  lyric  flow  and  hearty  sentiment 
than  the  best  of  Hoffman's.  Tom  Warton  has  not 
written  better  sonnets  than  some  of  Benjamin's.  Gal- 
lagher and  Street  have  a  finer  feeling  for  the  beauties 


36  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS, 

and  sublimities  of  natural  scenery,  and  more  felicity  in 
giving  it  expression,  than  a  large  number  of  English 
descriptive  poets  of  the  second  class.  Sargent  has 
written  of  the  sea  with  more  freshness  and  graphic 
power,  with  more  true  fancy  and  poetic  feeling,  than 
Falconer,  or  many  others  of  a  higher  reputation.  A 
richness  of  diction,  a  warmth  of  imagination,  and  a 
tenderness  of  sentiment,  distinguish  many  of  the  occa« 
sional  compositions  of  Tuckerman,  and  especially  his 
•"  Spirit  of  Poetry,"  which  are  not  often  found  in  the 
poetical  contributions  to  those  English  periodicals  in 
which  transatlantic  verse  is  rarely  mentioned  without 
ridicule  or  affected  contempt. 

We  have  no  desire  to  exalt  American  poetry  above  its 
merits.  We  are  sensible  of  its  deficiencies,  as  compared 
with  the  great  creations  of  English  genius.  We  know 
that  much  which  circulates  in  the  United  States,  in  the 
shape  of  rhyme,  is  nothing  more  than  rhyme.  But  it 
appears  to  us  quite  absurd,  that  in  a  country  whose 
literature  is  stained  with  so  many  metrical  productions 
offensive  to  good  taste  and  good  morals,  —  a  country 
which  has  had  its  Tom  D'Urfeys,  Aphra  Behns,  Shad- 
wells,  Settles,  and  Wolcotts,  as  well  as  its  Shakspeare, 
Spenser,  Milton,  and  Wordsworth,  —  a  country  whose 
■miscellaneous  and  magazine  verse  is,  at  the  present  time, 
inferior  to  our  own,  —  there  should  be  so  much  willing- 
ness to  express  pity  or  contempt  for  the  poetry  of  the 
United  States.  But  it  is  one  of  the  amiable  peculiarities 
of  John  Bull  to  forget  all  his  own  past  and  present  sins, 
in  his  zeal  against  the  peccadilloes  of  his  neighbors. 

All  countries  peopled  by  civilized  men  must  have  many 
minor  poets,  who,  with  a  moderate  share  of  the  poetical 
faculty,  have  considerable  poetical  feeling.     Their  com- 


POETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AMERICA.  37 

positions  may  not  deserve  much  eulogium ;  they  may 
merely  remodel  old  images  and  repeat  old  forms  of 
expression  ;  they  may  rather  reproduce  than  create  ;  but 
their  poetry  often  displays  smooth  versification,  pure 
sentiment,  and  occasionally  a  happy  thought.  Almost 
all  men  "  experience  "  poetry  during  some  period  of  their 
lives ;  and  it  is  often  the  case,  that,  in  a  moment  of 
happy  inspiration,  a  man  of  very  inferior  abilities  may 
write  a  short  poem  excelling  some  of  the  efforts  of  men 
of  the  highest  genius.  We  might  select  from  Mr.  Gris- 
vvold's  collection  many  pieces,  which  are  better  than  some 
few  poems  included  in  editions  of  "Wordsworth,  Byron, 
Coleridge,  and  Scott.  In  the  United  States,  there  is  a 
great  number  of  such  persons  as  we  have  indicated.  The 
ease  with  which  a  moderate  skill  in  versification  is 
acquired,  and  the  copious  flood  of  poetic  expressions 
which  is  poured  into  the  mind  of  every  school-boy, 
enable  most  men  of  taste  and  feeling  to  write  what  is 
called  respectable  poetry  with  great  facility.  Much 
rhyme  is  here  produced  by  persons  who  have  no  direct 
connection  with  literature,  and  who  set  forth  no  claims 
to  be  admitted  into  the  glorious  company  of  creative 
minds.  If  their  good-natured  friends  would  only  let 
them  alone,  they  would  never  discover  that  they  were 
more  gifted  than  their  neighbors.  The  danger  is,  that 
they  will  be  too  much  elated  by  flattery,  and  at  last 
seriously  entertain  the  conceit,  that  they  are  great  poets, 
who  reflect  honor  upon  the  literature  of  their  country. 
As  every  man  has  some  friend  connected  with  a  news- 
paper or  magazine,  this  danger  is  not  so  groundless  as 
one  may  at  first  imagine. 

The  fact  cannot  fail  to  strike  the  least  observant  spec- 
tator, that  most  of  our  distinguished  autliorsare  engaged 


38  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

in  pursuits  generally  considered  unfavorable  to  the  efforts 
of  genius.  Sprague  and  Halleck  obtain  their  livelihood 
by  their  pens,  it  is  true ;  but  not  in  any  poetical  sense 
of  the  phrase.  Indeed,  the  least  lucrative  profession  in 
the  United  States  is  that  of  authorship.  Every  prudent 
man  avoids  it  as  he  does  a  pestilence.  A  writer  who 
attempts  to  live  on  the  manufactures  of  his  imagination 
is  continually  coquetting  with  starvation.  He  spends 
his  days  in  illustrating  the  ingenious  theories  of  certain 
physiologists,  who  have  tried  to  ascertain  how  little  food 
will  suffice  for  a  man's  stomach,  and  how  little  raiment 
for  his  back.  Genius  may  be  almost  defined,  as  the 
faculty  of  acquiring  poverty.  Professional  authors  have 
ever  been  rudely  bruised  and  battered  by  fortune. 
When  so  thin  that  they  could  not  "  sport  a  shadow  i'  the 
sun,"  a  bailiff  has  generally  served  in  its  place.  Garrets 
and  cellars  have  been  at  once  their  homes  and  hiding- 
places.  In  their  case,  mendicity  often  trails  mendacity 
along  with  it.  Famine  hollows  their  cheeks ;  disease 
lackeys  their  steps.  Every  proud  worldling  hisses  out 
his  scoff,  and  every  ass  lifts  his  hoof  against  them. 
They  drink  deep,  not  only  of  the  Pierian  spring,  but  of 
that  fountain  of  self-contempt  which  is  "bitterer  to 
drink  than  blood."  They  die  at  last,  some  by  their  own 
hands,  some  by  insanity,  some  of  famine,  some  of 
absolute  weariness,  and  some  of  "  helpless,  hopeless 
brokenness  of  heart,"  — 

"  Hiding  from  many  a  careless  eye 
The  scorned  load  of  agony." 

We  must  confess  that  such  dark  and  petulant  fancies 
as  these  always  flit  through  our  minds,  when  we  hear 
the  constantly  repeated  regret,  that  a  favorite  author  has 


rOETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AMERICA  39 

not  made  literature  his  profession.  The  reasons  why  he 
has  not  done  so  are  plain.  He  has  common,  as  well  as 
uncommon,  sense ;  he  deems  pain  and  starvation  evils 
which  should  be  avoided  ;  he  thinks  a  good  home  and 
the  certainty  of  a  dinner  better  than  a  garret  and  heaven- 
soaring  imaginations.  Such  men  as  Sprague  and  Hal- 
leek  have  displayed  as  much  wisdom  in  their  conduct  as 
genius  in  their  writings.  They  certainly  would  not 
have  written  so  well,  had  their  muse  been  stimulated  to 
exertion  by  hunger,  or  their  fine  faculties  been  let  out  to 
some  "  enterprising "  bookseller,  and  forced  into  what- 
ever channels  of  quackery  and  deceit  the  demands  of 
"  the  trade "  required.  Professional  authors  are  apt 
either  to  sneer  at  a  banker  or  merchant  who  obtains 
applause  for  transient  literary  offerings,  or  to  attempt  to 
lure  him  by  lying  idealities  into  their  own  Slough  of 
Despond.  There  is  hardly  a  hack  in  Great  Britain  who 
has  not,  either  in  penny  newspaper  or  sentimental 
magazine,  directed  his  pop-gun  of  wit  against  Samuel 
Rogers,  the  banker  and  poet.  Men  who  get  a  living,  or 
an  epitaph,  by  the  pursuits  of  literature,  seem  to  think 
that  no  person  has  a  right  to  be  clever  who  is  not  some- 
thing of  a  vagabond.  We  cannot  admit  that  they  are  at 
all  competent  to  decide  the  question,  whether  commerce 
or  banking  be  inimical  to  poetr}'.  Bank-notes,  it  is  to  be 
regretted,  visit  their  pockets  too  rarely  to  make  them  any- 
thing but  dogmatists  in  deciding  on  their  poetical  or 
prosaic  nature. 

Charles  Sprague,  one  of  the  best  poets  in  Mr.  Gris- 
vvold's  multitudinous  collection,  has  always  been  engaged 
in  pursuits  connected  with  commerce,  and  his  poems 
are  therefore  the  products  of  his  leisure  His  poetical 
compositions  ma)"  be  readily  divided  into  two  classes: 


40  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

tho&e  written  for  special  occasions,  and  in  some  degree 
manufactured  to  order ;  and  those  which  commemorate 
events  in  his  domestic  life,  and  which  accordingly  have 
more  of  the  heart's  spontaneous  music.  Although  those 
of  the  first  class  display  to  greater  advantage  his  skill  in 
versification,  and  the  extent  of  his  intellectual  resources, 
they  are  not  so  instinct  with  the  poetical  spirit  as  his  less 
ambitious  efforts.  His  prologues  are  the  best  which 
have  been  written  since  the  time  of  Pope.  His  "  Shak- 
speare  Ode  "  has  hardly  been  exceeded  by  anything  in 
the  same  manner,  since  Gray's  "  Progress  of  Poetry." 
But  the  true  power  and  originality  of  the  man  are  mani- 
fested in  his  domestic  pieces.  "  The  Brothers,"  "  I  see 
Thee  still,"  and  "  the  Family  Meeting,"  are  the  finest 
consecrations  of  natural  affection  in  our  literature.  The 
pathos  of  Bryant  is  so  deeply  tinged  with  the  spirit  of 
meditation,  that  it  is  rather  the  philosophy  of  grief  than 
'ts  direct  expression.  His  regrets  flow  through  his 
reason  and  imagination,  but  those  of  Sprague  seem  to 
gush  directly  from  the  heart.  There  is  a  purity,  a 
sweetness,  a  true  home-like  feeling,  in  the  little  domestic 
pieces  of  the  latter,  to  which  none  but  a  fribble  or  a 
rout  can  be  insensible.  They  can  be  read  again  and 
again,  with  a  delight  which  is  ever  renewed.  The  true 
soul  of  human  affection  is  in  them,  and  "  waxes  not 
old."  A  composition  which  dazzles  at  first  sight  by 
gaudy  epithets,  or  brilliant  turns  of  expression,  or  glitter- 
ing trains  of  imagery,  may  fade  gradually  from  the 
mind,  and  leave  no  enduring  impression ;  but  words 
which  flow  fresh  and  warm  from  a  full  heart,  and  which 
are  instinct  with  the  life  and  breath  of  human  feeling, 
pass  into  household  memories,  and  partake  of  the 
immortality  of  the  affections  from  which  they  spring. 


POETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AMERICA.  41 

The  spiritual  tone  of  these  beautiful  embodiments  of 
sensibility  is  exquisitely  fine  and  touching ;  and  the  tone 
of  a  poem  is,  after  all,  its  most  enduring  excellence. 
Images,  metaphors,  subtle  and  delicate  phrases,  may 
glide  away  from  the  mind,  and  yet  the  soul  by  which 
thoy  were  animated  remain.  There  is  much  confusion 
produced  in  criticism  by  not  discriminating  between  the 
form  and  the  essence  of  poetry.  In  "  Childe  Harold" 
there  is  probably  displayed  more  of  the  radiant  vesture 
of  the  imagination  than  in  any  poem  of  the  present  age ; 
yet  the  tone  of  one  half  of  that  splendid  apotheosis  of 
misanthropy  and  egotism  is  unpoetical.  Its  effect  is 
merely  to  stir  and  to  sting.  It  leaves  an  impression  on 
the  memory  which  may  be  called  almost  disagreeable. 
We  feel  that  the  author's  spiritual  life  was  inharmonious, 
—  that  the  tone  of  his  mind  was  not  pure.  On  the  other 
hand,  in  many  of  Wordsworth's  early  compositions, 
where  the  versification  is  harsh  or  slovenly,  and  the 
diction  mean  and  meagre,  the  tone  is  often  fine  and 
poetical,  the  "  white  radiance  "  of  his  soul  shining  through 
his  homeliest  verbal  expression.  To  attempt  to  analyze 
the  tone  of  a  poem  would  be  useless.  It  is  an  object  of 
inward  perception.     It  is 

"  The  viewless  spirit  of  a  lovely  sound, 
A  living  voice,  a  lirealhing  harmony, 
A  bodiless  enjoyment." 

It  may  be  compared  to  the  murmur  of  a  brook  as  heard 
in  a  dream.  When  good,  it  is  the  very  music  of  a  soul 
which  contains  no  jarring  string. 

The  tone  of  Sprague's  domestic  poems  is,  as  we  have 
already  stated,  very  pure  and  harmonious.  The  swell- 
ing diction,  the  wide  command  of  language  and  imagery 


42  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

the  deliberate  and  elaborated  frenzy,  of  his  long  odes,  will 
hardly  bear  comparison,  in  point  of  true  poetic  excellence, 
with  his  quiet  pictures  of  fireside  joys  and  sorrows. 
The  latter  illustrate  the  truth,  that  gentleness  is  power. 
There  is  more  real  strength  in  them  than  in  all  the 
clang  and  clatter  which  words  can  be  easily  made  to 
produce,  when  employed  by  a  cunning  rhetorician.  We 
extract  the  little  poem  of  "  The  Brothers,"  in  illustration 
of  our  meaning.  No  dominion  over  the  mere  shows  of 
poetical  expression  could  enable  a  man,  without  a  full 
heart,  to  write  anything  equal  to  it. 

"  We  are  but  two,  —  the  others  sleep 
Through  Death's  untroubled  night : 
We  are  hut  two,  —  oh !  let  us  keep 
The  link  that  binds  us  bright. 

"  Heart  leaps  to  heart,  —  the  sacred  flood 
That  warms  us  is  the  same  ; 
That  good  old  man  —  his  honest  blood 
Alike  we  fondly  claim. 

"  We  in  one  mother's  arms  were  locked,-  - 
Long  be  her  love  repaid  ; 
In  the  same  cradle  we  were  rocked, 
Round  the  same  hearth  we  played. 

"  Our  boyish  sports  were  all  the  same, 
Each  little  joy  and  woe  ;  — 
Let  manhood  keep  alive  the  flame 
Lit  up  so  long  ago. 

"  We  are  but  two,  — be  that  the  band 
To  hold  us  till  we  die  ; 
Shoulder  to  shoulder  let  us  stand, 
Till  side  by  side  we  lie." 

In  the  lines  on  the  death  of  M.  S.  C,  there  is  muck 

mournful  beauty  and  tenderness. 


POETS   AND    rOETRY    OF    AMERICA.  43 

*I  knew  thai  we  must  part,  —  day  after  day 
I  saw  the  dread  Destroyer  win  his  way  ; 
Feeble  and  slow  thy  once  light  footstep  grew, 
Thy  wasting  cheek  put  on  Death's  pallid  hue, 
Thy  thin,  hot  hand  to  mine  more  weakly  clung, 
Each  sweet '  Good-uight '  fell  fainter  from  thy  tongue. 
****** 

Then  like  tired  breezes  didst  thou  sink  to  rest. 
Nor  one,  one  pang  the  awful  change  confessed. 
Death  stole  in  softness  o'er  that  lovely  face. 
And  touched  each  feature  with  a  new-born  grace  ; 
On  cheek  and  brow  unearthly  beauty  lay, 
And  told  that  life's  poor  cares  had  passed  away! 
In  my  last  hour  be  Heaven  so  kind  to  me ! 
I  ask  uo  more  but  this,  —  to  die  like  thee  !  " 

We  cannot  resist  the  desire  to  make  two  more  extracts 
from  this  little  collection  of  domestic  pieces. 

"I  see  thee  still ! 
Remembrance,  faithful  to  her  trust, 
Calls  thee  in  beauty  from  the  dust ; 
Thou  comest  in  the  morning  light, 
Thou  'n  with  me  through  the  gloomy  night ; 
In  dreams  I  meet  thee  as  of  old  : 
Then  thy  soft  arms  my  neck  enfold, 
And  thy  sweet  voice  is  in  my  ear ; 
In  every  scene  to  memory  deai 

I  see  thee  still ! " 


"  We  're  not  all  here  ! 
Some  are  away,  —  the  dead  ones  dear, 
Who  thronged  with  us  this  ancient  hearth. 
And  gave  the  hour  to  guileless  mirth. 
Fate,  with  a  stern,  relentless  hand. 
Looked  in  and  thinned  our  little  band  ; 
Some  like  a  night-flash  passed  away. 
And  some  sank  lingering,  day  by  day  ; 
The  quiet  graveyard  —  some  lie  there, 
And  cruel  ocean  has  his  share  — 
We  're  uol  all  here ! " 


44  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

Mr.  Griswold  tells  the  story  of  a  compliment  paid  to 
Sprague,  which  is  worthy  of  note.  A  British  officer  dis- 
covered the  poem  of  "  Curiosity  "  straying  about,  orphan- 
like, in  Calcutta,  and  in  the  absence  of  its  father,  adopted 
it  as  his  own  child,  and  gave  it  the  first  place  among  the 
progeny  of  his  brain.  After  circulating  widely  in  the 
East  Indies  as  an  English  production,  it  was  reprinted  in 
London,  and  received  the  critical  honors  of  the  British 
press.  The  poem  itself  is  deservedly  popular,  and  Mr. 
Griswold  has  displayed  good  taste  in  printing  the  whole 
of  it  among  his  selections.  The  general  harmony  of  its 
numbers ;  its  agreeable  alternations  of  sentiment  and 
satire ;  its  numerous  pictures  of  life,  character,  and  man- 
ners; its  vigorous  thought  and  brilliant  wit,  and  the 
genial  spirit  which  animates  it  throughout,  are  qualities 
which  universally  please.  Though  there  is  much  honest 
and  hearty  indignation  in  the  production  directed  against 
the  follies  and  crimes  of  society,  Sprague  is  hardly  a 
satirist  in  any  unkindly  sense  of  the  word.  He  lashes 
artifice  and  quackery  with  great  force,  it  is  true ;  but  in 
doing  it,  he  rather  expresses  the  natural  contempt  and 
di?like  of  a  clear-headed,  right-hearted  man  for  silliness 
and  sin,  than  the  labored  invective  of  a  didactic  denouncer 
of  mankind,  edging  rebuke  with  a  venomous  sneer,  and 
more  solicitous  of  antithesis  than  truth.  He  never  dips 
his  pen  in  scorn's  "  fiery  poison."  The  spirit  of  beauty 
and  humor  seems  to  accompany  and  direct  the  sarcasm, 
whenever  it  is  launched  at  the  lighter  branches  of  the 
looleries  and  errors  of  the  day ;  and  it  rarely  becomes 
deep  and  uncompromising,  except  when  it  is  shot  at 
brazen  infamy  or  brainless  pretension.  No  one  can  read 
"  Curiosity"  without  perceiving  that  its  author  has  a 
most  exact  sense  of  moral  distinctions,  as  well  as  a  fine 


POETS    AND    POKTRY    OF    AMERICA.  45 

perception  of  the  ridiculous.  The  moral  character  un- 
consciously impressed  on  the  poem  would  do  honor  to 
Channing. 

Reference  has  already  been  made  to  Spragiie's  odes 
as  productions  displaying  much  forcible  thought,  metri- 
cal skill,  and  splendor  of  expression.  But  they  have  a 
mightier  effect  upon  the  ear  than  the  heart.  The  life  of 
the  man  does  not  circle  through  them  with  such  intens- 
ity as  in  his  less  ornate  and  less  mechanical  poems.  At 
times  there  is  manifested,  in  the  choice  of  the  language 
and  the  movement  of  the  verse,  a  disposition  on  the  part 
of  the  author  to  lash  his  muse  into  exertion ;  and  here 
and  there,  a  tasteless  or  turgid  epithet  indicates  that  not 
always  was  he  successful  in  "wreaking"  his  thoughts 
upon  expression.  No  criticism,  however,  could  justly 
represent  them  as  any  other  than  remarkable  produc- 
tions. A  short  extract  from  "  The  Centennial  Ode"  will 
serve  as  a  specimen  of  his  power  in  condensing  thought 
and  emotion  into  the  smallest  possible  compass,  without 
allowing  them  to  run  into  obscurity. 

"  We  call  them  savage,  —  oh !  be  just ! 
Tiieir  outraged  feelings  scau  : 
A  voice  comes  forth,  'tis  from  the  dust, — 
The  savage  was  a  mau  ! 

"  Think  ye  he  loved  not  ?    Who  stood  by, 

Am!  iti  his  toils  took  part  ? 
Woman  was  there  to  bless  his  eye ! 

The  savage  had  a  heart ! 
Think  ye  he  prayed  not  ?    When  on  high 

Ho  heard  the  thunders  roll, 
What  bade  him  look  beyond  the  sky  ?  — 

The  savage  had  a  soul ! 

"  I  venerate  the  Pilgrim's  cause, 

Yet  for  the  red  man  dare  to  plead  — 


46  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

We  bow  to  Heaven's  recorded  laws, 

He  turned  to  Nature  for  a  creed  ; 
Beneath  the  pillared  dome 

We  seek  our  God  in  prayer  ; 
Through  boundless  woods  he  loved  to  roam, 

And  the  Great  Spirit  worshipped  there." 

From  the  writings  of  Richard  Henry  Dana,  Mr. 
Gfiswold  has  made  copious  extracts,  Mr.  Dana  is,  per- 
haps, our  most  original  poet.  No  American  productions, 
with  which  we  are  acquainted,  are  characterized  by  such 
intense  subjectiveness,  or  bear  so  deep  an  impress  of 
individuality,  as  those  of  the  author  of  the  "  Buccaneer." 
We  feel,  in  reading  them,  that  the  inward  life  of  the  man 
has  found  utterance  in  the  rugged  music  of  the  poet. 
He  seems  never  to  have  written  from  hearsay,  or  taken 
any  of  his  opinions  at  second-hand.  Perhaps  this  is  to 
be  attributed,  in  a  great  degree,  to  his  habits  of  retire- 
ment. In  this  bustling  and  utilitarian  age,  when  even 
poets  become  involved  in  politics  and  commercial  specu- 
lations, and  literally  make  a  noise  in  the  world,  we  do 
not  often  hear  of  a  writer  who  keeps  the  even  tenor  of 
his  way  amid  the  surrounding  fret  and  tumult,  undis- 
turbed by  the  petty  vanities  and  selfish  aims  of  active 
existence.  Very  few  now  follow  the  example  of  Isaac  of 
old,  and  go  out  into  the  fields  to  meditate.  The  old  law 
of  composition  is  reversed.  Men  do  not  appear  to  write 
because  they  cannot  help  it,  but  to  whip  and  goad  their 
unwilling  minds  into  expression  by  extraneous  means. 
The  morals  and  aspirations  of  Grub-street  have  worked 
their  way  into  Paternoster  Row.  A  low  standard  of 
excellence  is  established.  Immortality  is  confidently 
predicted  of  very  humble  labors.  Choice  bits  and  morsels 
of  thought  and  imagery,  floating  on  the  smooth  stream 
of  octosvllabic  or  s-jven-syllabled  verse,  are  considered 


POETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AMERICA.  47 

infallible  signs  of  creative  genius.  Many  "  immortal " 
reputations  die  every  year.  A  spirit  of  dapper  intellect- 
ual dandyism,  of  which  elegant  verbiage  and  a  dainty 
and  debilitating  .spiritualism  are  the  outward  shows  and 
covering,  infects  too  much  of  the  popular  verse.  Vanity 
and  avarice  are  accordingly  the  moving  principles  of 
much  which  should  spring  directly  from  sentiment  and 
nuagination.  Authors  of  the  second  rank  may  now  be 
divided  into  two  distinct  classes.  The  one  strives  to  win 
the  ear  of  the  polite  and  refined  at  any  sacrifice  of  hearti- 
ness and  truth,  and  is  prodigal  of  elegant  imbecilities 
and  insipid  refinements ;  whilst  the  other  pampers  the 
taste  of  the  vulgar  with  recitals  of  misery  and  crime, 
exhibits  all  the  forms  of  melodramatic  agony,  and  fills 
the  page  with  the  records  of  the  hospital  and  the  jail. 
Both  classes  are  equally  distant  from  nature  and  truth. 
No  author  ever  acquired  durable  fame  by  his  loyalty 
to  merely  conventional  decencies  and  refinements,  or  by 
outrages  upon  taste  and  morals.  Milton  said,  that  no 
man  could  write  epics  who  did  not  live  epics.  Since  his 
time,  Glover  and  Cottle  have  illustrated  his  remark  in 
•'Leonidas"  and  "Alfred."  But  this  principle  does 
not  hold  good  in  reg-ard  to  the  other  forms  of  poetry ; 
for  men  contrive  to  write  lyrics,  while  they  live  econom- 
ics. 

Mr.  Dana  belongs  to  a  very  different  class  of  authors 
from  those  whom  we  have  just  described.  "  Neediness, 
greediness,  and  vain-glory,"  have  never  been  the  sources 
of  his  inspiration.  He  has  engaged  in  none  of  those 
enterprises  which  give  a  day's  fame  to  ambitious  medi- 
ocrity and  aspiring  weakness. 

The  mental  powers  displayed  in  his  vn-itings  are  of  a 
nigh  order.     He  posse&nes  all  the  qualities  which  distin- 


48  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

guish  the  poet,  —  acute  observation  of  nature,  a  deep 
feeling  of  beauty,  a  suggestive  and  shaping  imagination, 
a  strong  and  keen,  though  not  dominant  sensibility,  and 
a  large  command  of  expression.  In  description,  he  excels, 
perhaps,  all  his  American  contemporaries.  Many  of  his 
stanzas  are  pictures,  painted  with  few  words.  He  is 
successful,  also,  in  mingling  thought  and  sentiment  with 
description,  and  in  evolving  the  spiritual  meaning 
which  underlies  natural  objects,  without  misrepresent- 
ing nature.  He  gives  the  sensible  image  with  so  much 
clearness  and  compression,  that  it  becomes  immediately 
apparent  to  the  eye ;  and  the  language  in  which  he  pic- 
tures it  forth  is  instinct  with  imagination,  even  when  he 
superadds  no  direct  sentiment  or  analogy.  The  fault  in 
much  fine  descriptive  poetry  is  in  the  accommodation  of 
the  appearance  which  an  object  presents  to  the  eye,  to 
the  ideas  which  it  suggests  to  the  mind.  The  fancy 
seizes  upon  the  material  form  and  moulds  it  into  new 
shapes,  until  the  original  and  distinctive  features  are 
lofit  There  are  some  poets,  who,  although  their  percep- 
tive faculties  are  not  deficient  in  acuteness,  are  unable  to 
see  things  as  they  really  exist.  Every  object  that  passes 
into  their  consciousness  from  without  undergoes  a 
change.  The  powers  of  vision  are  unable  to  hold  the 
sensible  image  in  its  exact  shape  and  hue,  and  it  is  soon 
delivered  over  to  passion,  wit,  or  fancy,  often  to  be 
moulded  into  grotesque  and  whimsical  forms.  The 
immaterialists  and  pantheists  of  poetry,  looking  at 
nature  only  for  analogies,  and  denying  her  absolute 
existence,  are  apt  to  be  too  free  with  her  forms  and 
colors.  But  Dana,  though  intensely  subjective  and 
individual  in  the  character  of  his  genius,  and  strongly 
influenced  by  his  mental  habits  and  peculiarities  in  his 


POETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AMERICA.  49 

appreciation  of  natural  sccner}',  rarely  fails  tc  convey 
correct  representations  of  outward  realities,  even  when 
he  links  a  sentiment  to  them  which  minds  differently 
constituted  would  deem  unnatural.  In  him  we  rarely 
liud  "subjectivity  leading  objectivity  in  chains,"  as  Hal- 
lam  quaintly  says  of  Malebranche.  A  few  stanzas  taken 
at  random  from  "The  Buccaneer"  will  prove  that  exact 
description  and  high  imagination  arc  capable  of  being 
united. 

"  But  when  the  light  winds  lie  at  rest, 
And  on  the  glassy,  heaving  sea, 
The  black  duck,  with  her  glossy  breast, 
Sits  swinging  silently,  — 
How  beautiful !  no  ripples  break  the  reach. 
And  silvery  waves  go  noiseless  up  the  beach." 
***** 
"  'T  is  fearful,  on  the  broad-backed  waves, 
To  feel  them  shake  and  hear  them  roar ; 
Beneath,  unsounded,  dreadful  caves  ; 
Around,  no  cheerful  shore. 
Yet  mid  this  solemn  world  what  deeds  are  done  ! 
The  curse  goes  up,  the  deadly  sea-fight 's  won." 
***** 
"  The  ship  works  hard  ;  the  sea  runs  high  ; 

Their  while  tops,  flashing  through  the  night, 
Give  to  the  eager  straining  eye 
A  wild  and  shifting  light." 

*  *  .  *  #  * 

♦'  On  pale,  dead  men,  on  burning  cheek, 

On  quick,  fierce  eyes,  brows  hot  and  damp, 
On  hands  that  with  the  warm  blood  reek, 
Shines  the  dim  cabin  lamp." 

***** 
'  A  low,  sweet  voice,  in  starry  nights. 
Chants  to  his  ear  a  plaining  song ; 
Its  tones  come  icimling-  vp  the  heights, 
Telling  of  woe  and  wrong." 

***** 

4 


50  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

"  As  swung  the  sea  with  heavy  beat, 
Below,  and  hear  it  break 
With  savage  roar,  then  pause  and  gather  strength. 
And  then,  come  tumbling  in  its  swollen  length." 

Indeed,  Dana's  descriptions  of  nature  are  so  graphic^ 
that  the  objects  are  perceived  as  if  by  the  bodily  eye. 
In  the  delineation  of  character,  also,  he  is  often  very 
successful.  Mat  Lee,  the  Buccaneer,  is  one  of  those 
ideal  beings,  who  become  existences  as  real  to  the  mind 
as  any  friend  or  enemy  of  whom  we  have  had  long 
experience.  A  few  lines  give  him  a  place  in  the  soul 
orever. 

"  Twelve  years  are  gone  since  Matthew  Lee 
Held  in  this  isle  unquestioned  sway  ; 
A  dark,  low,  brawny  man  was  he  ; 
His  law,  —  '  It  is  my  way.' 
Beneath  his  thick-set  brows  a  sharp  light  broke 
From  small  gray  eyes  ;  his  laugh  a  triumph  spoke. 

"  Cruel  of  heart  and  strong  of  arm. 

Loud  in  his  sport  and  keen  for  spoil. 
He  little  recked  of  good  or  harm. 
Fierce  both  in  mirth  and  toil  ; 
Yet  like  a  dog  could  fawn,  if  need  there  were  ; 
Speak  mildly  when  he  would,  or  look  in  fear." 
***** 

"Amid  the  uproar  of  the  storm, 

And  by  the  lightning's  sharp  red  glare, 
Were  seen  Lee's  face  and  sturdy  form  ; 
His  axe  glanced  quick  in  air." 

Dana's  imagination  is,  perhaps,  his  greatest  power. 
In  the  extracts  we  have  made  from  "  The  Buccaneer," 
in  illustration  of  other  qualities,  this  faculty  is  promi- 
nent. Whether  exercised  in  bodying  forth  abstract  ideas, 
or  in  creating  character,  or  in  vivifying  description,  or  in 
suggesting  analogies,  or  in  assisting  to  give  that  inex- 


POETS    AND    POETR"V    OF    AMERICA. 


51 


pressible  tone  to  his  compositions  which  analysis  toils 
after  in  vain,  —  it  seems  limited  by  nothing  but  his  sen- 
timents. In  the  selection  of  his  language,  likewise,  this 
faculty  makes  all  his  words  embodied  ideas,  and  a  single 
epithet  often  performs  the  office  of  a  stanza.  It  would 
be  impossible  to  compress  his  style ;  for  the  short,  sharp 
sentences  am  the  perfection  of  brevity. 

It  would  seem,  from  his  published  works,  that  there  is 
a  dark  vein  of  despondency  in  his  nature,  which  some- 
times breaks  out  in  morbid  manifestations,  in  spite  of  the 
vigor  of  his  intellect,  and  the  fineness  of  his  affections. 
His  compositions  have  more  "  hearse-like  airs  than 
carols."  Keenly  sensible  to  moral  distinctions,  he  feels 
intensely  the  sin  and  wretchedness  of  the  world,  and 
throws  too  sombre  a  coloring  over  his  reflections  upon 
humanity.  He  gazes  into  the  awful  gulfs  of  iniquity, 
which  make  a  hell  of  many  perverted  bosoms,  with  the 
eye  of  conscience  and  religion  ;  and  is  apt  to  transfer  to 
the  race  some  of  the  associations  which  such  a  contem- 
plation suggests.  A  tinge  of  melancholy,  mild,  deli- 
cious, and  dream-like,  as  in  the  "  Little  Beach  Bird,"  is 
sometimes  thro\vn  over  his  verse,  and  adds  to  its  mys- 
tical charm ;  but  when  this  deepens  into  gloom,  we  feel 
that  it  results  from  the  inharmonious  action  of  his  mind. 
Even  in  the  latter  case,  however,  bursts  of  sunshine  from 
his  imagination  will  occasionally  "  streak  the  darkness 
radiantly."  A  poet  whose  sensibility  to  grandeur  and 
sublimity  is  deep,  and  whose  mind  has  a  feeling  for  the 
vague  and  the  supernatural,  is  ever  liable  to  be  oppressed 
by  dark  moods,  unless  he  has  a  sharp  perception  of  wit 
and  humor  to  modify  the  sombre  tendencies  of  his  dis- 
position. In  Dana,  this  melancholy  never  degenerates 
into  nisanlhxopy,  and  is  never  employed  to  pamper  a 


52  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

sublimed  egotism,  as  in  Byron.  It  is  deeper,  however 
and  more  intense,  than  the  mournfulness  we  occasionally 
find  in  Wordsworth,  Bryant,  and  other  meditative  poets. 
It  seems  to  have  its  source  in  habits  of  solitary,  intense, 
and  brooding  thought,  and  it  pervades  his  writings  like 
an  invisible  spirit. 

Mr.  Griswold  says  finely  of  Bryant,  that  "  he  is  tne 
translator  of  the  silent  language  of  nature  to  the  world." 
The  serene  beauty  and  thoughtful  tenderness  which 
characterize  his  descriptions,  or  rather  interpretations 
of  outward  objects,  are  paralleled  only  in  Wordsworth. 
His  poems  are  almost  perfect  of  their  kind.  The  fruits 
of  meditative  rather  than  impassioned  imagination,  and 
rarely  startling  with  an  unexpected  image  or  sudden  out- 
break of  feeling,  they  are  admirable  specimens  of  what 
may  be  called  the  philosophy  of  the  soul.  They  address 
the  finer  instincts  of  our  nature  with  a  voice  so  winning 
and  gentle,  — =-  they  search  out  with  such  subtle  power 
all  in  the  heart  which  is  true  and  good,  —  that  their 
influence,  though  quiet,  is  resistless.  They  have  con- 
secrated to  many  minds  things  which  before  it  was  pain- 
ful to  contemplate.  Who  can  say  that  his  feelings  and 
fears  respecting  death  have  not  received  an  insensible 
change,  since  reading  "  Thanatopsis  "  ?  Indeed,  we 
think  that  Bryant's  poems  are  valuable  not  only  for 
their  intrinsic  excellence,  but  for  the  vast  influence  theii 
wide  circulation  is  calculated  to  exercise  on  national 
feelings  and  manners.  It  is  impossible  to  read  them 
without  being  morally  benefited.  They  purify  as  well 
as  please.  They  develop  or  encourage  all  the  elevated 
and  tho'.ightful  tendencies  of  the  mind.  In  the  jar  and 
])ustle  of  our  American  life,  more  favorable  to  quickness 
ani  acuteuess  of  mind  than  to  meditation,  it  is  well  tha 


POETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AMERICA.  53 

we  have  a  poet  who  can  bring  the  hues  and  odors  of  na- 
ture into  the  crowded  mart,  and,  by  ennobling  thoughts 
of  man  and  his  destiny,  induce  the  most  worldly  to  give 
their  eyes  an  occasional  glance  upward,  and  the  most  self- 
i'.h  to  feel  tliat  the  love  of  God  and  man  is  better  than 
the  love  of  ]\Iammon.  Metrical  moralizing  is  generally 
offensive,  from  its  triteness  and  pretension  ;  but  that  of 
Bryant  is  so  fresh  and  natural,  mingles  so  unconsciously 
with  his  musings  and  imaginations,  and  bears  so  marked 
a  character  of  truth  and  feeling,  that  even  the  most 
commonplace  axiom  receives  a  new  importance  when 
touched  by  his  heart,  and  colored  by  his  imagination. 
To  make  extracts  from  Bryant,  in  illustration  of  the 
qualities  of  his  mind,  would  be  almost  an  impertinence. 
His  writings  are  too  well  known  to  need  quotation  of 
particular  beauties. 

Mr.  Griswold  remarks  of  Percival,  "  that  he  has  all 
the  natural  qualities  of  a  great  poet ;  but  lacks  the  artist- 
ical  skill,  or  declines  the  labor,  without  which  few  au 
thors  gain  immortality.  He  has  a  brilliant  imagination, 
remarkable  command  of  language,  and  an  exhaustless 
fountain  of  ideas.  He  writes  with  a  facility  but  rarely 
equalled,  and  when  his  thoughts  are  once  committed  to 
the  page,  he  shrinks  from  the  labor  of  revising,  correct- 
ing, and  condensing.  He  remarks,  in  one  of  his  pre- 
faces, that  his  verse  is  '  very  far  from  bearing  the  marks 
of  the  file  and  the  burnisher,'  and  that  he  likes  to  see 
'  poetry  in  the  full  ebullition  of  feeling  and  fancy,  loam- 
ing  up  with  the  spirit  of  life,  and  glowing  with  the 
rainbows  of  a  glad  inspiration.'"  To  this  critique  it  is 
necessary  to  add  but  little.  The  glow  and  sparkle  of 
Percival's  verse  are  often  in  the  highest  degree  inspiring. 
ThiJ  swell  and  sweep  in  his  diction  correspond  with  the 


54  ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS. 

turbulence  and  joy  of  soul  from  which  much  of  his 
poetry  seems  to  gush.  The  mind  of  the  reader  is  hur- 
ried along  the  stream  of  his  verse,  and  readily  adopts 
his  changing  moods.  "  The  Prevalence  of  Poetry," 
"  Consumption,"  "  Clouds,"  "  Morning  among  the 
Hills,"  "  Genius  Slumbering,"  "  Genius  Waking," 
"  The  Sun,"  and  "  New  England,"  are  all  excellent,  and 
evince  his  artistical  ability,  and  the  range  of  his  genius. 
We  say  artistical  ability,  because  most  of  Percival's 
poems  indicate  greater  capacity  in  the  writer  than  is 
directly  expressed.  "  New  England  "  is  a  lyric  known 
to  every  school-boy ;  and  its  warm  patriotism  and  kind- 
ling energy  have  disturbed  the  mind  of  many  a  youth, 
while  attempting  to  pierce  into  the  heart  of  some  tough 
problem  in  Euclid.  "  May  "  is  a  little  poem  of  exceed- 
ing beauty  and  sweetness,  reflecting  the  very  season  it 
describes. 

"  I  feel  a  newer  life  in  every  gale,  — 

The  winds  that  fan  the  flowers, 
And  with  their  welcome  breatliings  fill  the  sail, 

Tell  of  serener  hours,  — 
Of  hours  that  glide  unfelt  away 
Beneath  the  sky  of  May. 

•'  The  spirit  of  the  gentle  south-wind  call* 

From  his  hlue  throne  of  air, 
And,  when  his  whispering  voice  in  music  falls, 

Beauty  is  budding  there  ; 
The  bright  ones  of  the  valley  break 
Their  slumbers,  and  awake. 

•'  The  waving  verdure  rolls  along  the  plain. 

And  the  wide  forest  weaves, 
To  welcome  back  its  playful  mates  again, 

A  canopy  of  leaves. 
And  from  the  darkening  shadow  floalB 
A  gush  « f  trembling  noiea. 


POETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AINIERICA.  65 

••  Fairer  and  brighter  spreads  the  reign  of  May  ; 

The  tresses  of  the  woods 
With  the  light  dallying  of  the  west-wind  play  ; 

And  the  full  hrimming  floods, 
As  gladly  to  the  goal  they  run, 
Hail  the  returning  sun." 

In  the  "  Prevalence  of  Poetry,"  we  perceive  the  exu- 
berance of  Percival's  mind  displayed  with  fine  effect. 
The  fancy  and  sentiment  of  the  piece  seem  to  flow  di- 
rectly from  the  true  inward  sources  of  the  ideal. 

"The  world  is  full  of  poetry  — the  air 
Is  living  with  its  spirit ;  and  the  waves 
Dance  to  the  music  of  its  melodies, 
And  sparkle  in  its  brightness.     Earth  is  veiled 
And  mantled  with  its  beauty  ;  and  the  walls 
That  close  the  universe  with  crystal  in, 
Are  eloquent  with  voices  that  proclaim 
The  unseen  glories  of  immensity, 
In  harmonies  too  perfect  and  too  high 
For  aught  but  beings  of  celestial  mould, 
And  speak  to  man  in  one  eternal  hymn. 
Unfading  beauty  and  unyielding  power." 

He  evinces  a  thorough  knowledge  of  what  poetry  is 
not,  while  he  pours  out  his  heart  in  praise  of  what 
poetry  is. 

"  'T  IS  not  the  chime  and  flow  of  words  that  move 

In  measured  file  and  metrical  array  ; 

'T  is  not  the  union  of  returning  sounds, 

Nor  all  the  pleasing  artifice  of  rhyme, 

And  quantity,  and  accent,  that  can  give 

This  all-pervading  spirit  to  the  ear. 

Or  blend  it  with  the  movings  of  the  soul. 
.   'T  is  a  mysterious  feeling,  which  combines 

Man  with  the  world  around  him,  in  a  chain 

Woven  of  fl  nvers,  and  dipped  in  sweetness,  till 

He  tastes  the  high  communion  of  his  thoughts 

Wiii  all  existences,  in  earth  and  heaven, 


56  ESSAYS   AND    REvlEWS. 

That  meet  him  in  the  charm  of  grace  and  power. 

'T  is  not  tlie  noisy  babbler  who  displays, 

In  studied  phrase,  and  noisy  epithet, 

And  rounded  period,  poor  and  vapid  thoughts, 

Which  peep  from  out  the  cumbrous  ornaments 

That  overload  their  littleness.     Its  vsrords 

Are  few,  but  deep  and  solemn." 

Percival  has  less  subjectivity,  —  less  of  the  brooding, 
philosophizing  spirit,  —  than  any  of  his  eminent  contem- 
poraries. His  imagination,  considered  as  a  shaping 
faculty,  is  not  so  great  as  Dana's,  Longfellow's,  and 
perhaps  Bryant's;  but  in  fancy  he  excels  them  all.  In- 
deed, the  quickness  with  which  the  latter  quality  works, 
and  the  disposition  of  Percival  to  hurried  composition, 
have  not  been  favorable  to  the  culture  of  high  imagina- 
tive power.  When  the  mind  is  really  disturbed  by  the 
"  fine  frenzy,"  the  imagination  has  no  lack  of  activity  in 
its  motions ;  but  when  the  poet,  instead  of  being  fren- 
zied, is  only  a  little  "  light-headed,"  it  disdains  to  give 
its  aid.  In  Percival,  the  feeling  is  often  high  and  the 
verse  winged,  when  the  imagery  is  only  common.  His 
poems  do  not  always  seem  adequately  to  convey  the 
whole  power  of  the  mind  from  which  they  proceed. 

Few  poets  in  Mr.  Griswold's  motley  collection  excel 
Fitz-Greene  Halleck  in  popularity.  His  metrical  com- 
positions, though  not  deficient  in  high  qualities,  do  not 
require  a  very  subtle  taste  in  the  reader  in  order  to  be  ap- 
preciated. The  frequent  blending  of  serious  thought  and 
emotion  with  playful  and  careless  fancies,  enables  him  to 
pass  at  once  for  a  man  of  sentiment  and  a  man  of  the 
world.  He  has  more  of  the  faculty  than  the  {e&hng  of 
the  poet.  He  reposes  little  faith  in  his  own  creations.  He 
is  hardly  willing  to  plant  himself  with  undoubting  con- 
fidence upon  the  eternal  principles  of  the  sou    en  which 


POETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AMEUICA.  57 

the  poetical  is  based,  and  avoid  or  repel  the  fleeting 
feelings  and  opinions  which  sometimes  threaten  and 
cloud  tlKiir  dominion.  By  the  impertinence  of  his  wit, 
he  almost  gives  the  impression  that  poetry  is  a  mere 
juggle,  and  that  he  cares  not  to  keep  the  secret.  At 
times  he  places  the  ideal  and  the  actual  face  to  face,  and 
remains  himself  an  indifferent  spectator  of  the  result 
At  others,  he  will  evoke  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep  of 
imagination,  only  to  point  and  fleer  at  them,  when  they 
have  obeyed  his  call.  He  has  few  serious  thoughts  that 
are  not  more  or  less  associated  with  ludicrous  ideas.  A 
little  laughing  imp  seems  to  sit  opposite  the  fountains  of 
his  heart,  and  dispel  with  the  merry  flash  of  his  eye 
every  shade  and  thin  essence  which  rise  in  misty  beauty 
from  their  surface.  In  perusing  some  of  his  poems,  we 
are  tempted  to  call  him  a  man  of  pure  sentiment  and 
fine  imagination  ruined  by  reading  "  Don  Juan."  There 
are  poetical  powers  displayed  in  "Marco  Bozzaris," 
"  Burns,"  "  Woman,"  and  others  of  his  serious  poems, 
which  we  dislike  to  sec  played  with  and  perverted.  To 
produce  a  shock  of  surprise  by  the  sudden  intrusion  of 
an  incongruous  idea  into  a  mournful  or  sentimental  flow 
of  feeling,  is  but  little  above  the  clap-trap  of  the  stage. 
We  are  aware  that,  in  Halleck's  case,  this  is  done  in  an 
inimitable  manner,  and  that  the  effect  on  one's  risible 
faculties  is  irresistible ;  but  still,  there  are  very  few  who 
desire  to  be  choked  with  a  laugh,  at  the  verj'  moment 
when  the  tears  are  starting  from  their  eyes.  It  intro- 
duces a  species  of  scepticism,  which  is  destructive  to 
the  enjoyment  of  poetry.  The  loftiness,  purity,  and  ten- 
derness of  feeling,  which  Halleck  can  so  well  express, 
when  he  pleases,  and  the  delicate  and  graceful  fancies 
with  which  he  can  festoon  thought  and  emotion,  should 


58  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

never  be  associated  with  what  is  mean  or  ridiculous, 
even  to  gratify  wit  or  whim.  There  is  a  kind  of  merry 
malevolence  in  the  abasement  of  ennobling  feeJings  and 
beautiful  images,  which  is  less  pardonable  than  open 
scoffing,  because  more  injurious.  Perhaps,  in  Halleck, 
this  mischievous  spirit  is  to  be  referred,  in  some  degree, 
to  that  fear  of  being  sentimental  which  is  apt  to  charac- 
terize robust  and  healthy  natures. 

It  is  quite  common  for  the  critics  of  Longfellow's 
poetry  to  escape  the  trouble  of  analysis  by  offering  some 
smooth  eulogium  to  his  ♦aste,  and  some  "lip-homage  " 
to  his  artistical  ability.  Mr.  Griswold  satisfies  his  con- 
science by  saying  that  "  Longfellow's  works  are  emi- 
nently picturesque,  and  are  distinguished  for  nicety  of 
epithet,  and  elaborate,  scholarly  finish.  He  has  feeling,  a 
rich  imagination,  and  a  cultivated  taste."  It  seems  to 
us  that  these  terms  are  as  applicable  to  other  American 
poets  as  to  Longfellow.  They  do  not  indicate  the  char- 
acteristics of  his  genius,  or  give  a  glimpse  of  the  spirit 
by  which  it  is  pervaded.  A  person,  in  reading  the 
"  Psalm  of  Life,"  does  not  say  that  this  poem  is  "  dis- 
tinguished for  nicety  of  epithet,  and  elaborate,  scholarly 
finish ; "  but  rather,  that  this  poem  touches  the  heroic 
string  of  my  nature,  —  breathes  energy  into  my  heart,  — 
sustains  my  lagging  purposes,  —  and  fixes  my  thoughts 
on  what  is  stable  and  eternal.  Without  questioning  the 
artistical  excellence  of  this  poet,  we  still  think  that  it  is 
thrust  forward  too  prominently  in  all  notices  of  his 
writings.  That  which  lies  behind  his  style  and  mere 
mechanical  skill  should  be  first  considered.  The  thought 
is  of  more  importance  than  the  manner  of  saying  it.  If 
the  former  be  worthless,  then  the  latter  is  not  worth  con- 
sideration.    A   poet  who   expresses  nothing,  with  great 


POETS    AND    POETRV    OF    AMERICA.  69 

••  nicety  of  epithet,"  or  with  "elaborate,  scholarly  finish," 
is  still  only  good  for  nothing.  The  questions  which  are 
of  real  moment  relate  to  qualities  which  lie  deeper  than 
rhetoric. 

The  great  characteristic  of  Longfellow,  that  of  address- 
mg  the  moral  nature  through  the  imagination,  of  link- 
ing moral  truth  to  intellectual  beauty,  is  a  far  greater 
excellence.  His  artistical  ability  is  admirable,  because 
it  is  not  seen.  It  is  rather  mental  than  mechanical.  In 
truth,  it  may  be  doubted  if  he  is  more  distinguished  as 
an  artist  than  Dana  or  Bryant.  If,  by  saying  that  a  poem 
is  artistical,  we  mean  that  its  form  corresponds  with  its 
spirit,  that  it  is  fashioned  into  the  likeness  of  the  thought 
or  emotion  it  is  intended  to  convey,  then  "  The  Buc- 
caneer "  and  "  Thanatopsis  "  are  as  artistical  as  any  of 
the  "  Voices  of  the  Night."  If  mere  skill  in  the  use  of 
multitudinous  metres  be  meant,  then  Percival  is  more 
artistical  than  either.  If  mechanical  ingenuity  in  forc- 
ing sentiment  into  forms  to  which  it  has  no  affinity  be 
the  meaning,  then  to  be  artistical  is  a  fault  or  an  affecta- 
tion. The  best  artist  is  he  who  accommodates  his  dic- 
tion to  his  subject,  and  in  this  sense,  Longfellow  is  an 
artist.  By  learning  "  to  labor  and  to  wait,"  by  steadily 
brooding  over  the  chaos  in  which  thought  and  emotion 
first  appear  to  the  mind,  and  giving  shape  and  life  to 
both  before  uttering  them  in  words,  he  has  obtained  a 
singular  mastery  of  expression.  By  this  we  do  not 
mean  that  he  has  a  large  command  of  language.  No 
fallacy  is  greater  than  that  which  confounds  fluency  with 
expression.  Washerwomen,  and  boys  at  debating  clubs, 
often  display  more  fluency  than  Webster;  but  his  words 
are  to  theirs  as  the  roll  of  thunder  to  the  patter  of  raia 
Language  generally  receives  its  significance  and  power 


60  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

from  the  person  who  uses  it.  IFnless  pernjeated  by  the 
higher  faculties  of  the  mind,  —  unless  it  be,  not  the  cloth- 
ing, but  the  creature,  of  thought,  —  it  is  quite  an  humble 
power.  There  are  some  writers  who  repose  undoubtitig 
confidence  in  words.  If  their  minds  be  filled  with  the 
epithets  of  poetry,  they  fondly  deem  that  they  have 
clutched  its  essence.  In  a  piece  of  inferior  verse,  we 
often  observe  expressions  which  have  been  employed 
with  great  eflTect  by  genius,  but  which  seem  to  burn  the 
fingers,  and  disconcert  the  equanimity,  of  the  aspiring 
word-catcher  who  presses  them  into  his  service.  Felic- 
ity, not  fluency,  of  language  is  a  merit.  There  is  such 
a  thing,  likewise,  as  making  a  style  the  expression  of  the 
nature  of  the  writer  who  uses  it.  The  rhetorical  arrange- 
ment of  Johnson  is  often  pedantic,  but  it  does  not  appear 
so  bad  in  his  writings  as  in  the  monstrous  masses  of  ver- 
biage beneath  which  the  thin  frames  of  his  imitators  are 
crushed.  The  style  of  Carlyle  is  faulty,  when  judged 
by  the  general  rules  of  taste ;  but  we  should  not  desire 
that  the  rough  gallop  of  his  sentences  should  be  changed 
for  the  graceful  ambling  of  Addison's,  without  a  corre- 
sponding change  in  his  psychological  condition. 

Longfellow  has  a  perfect  command  of  that  expression 
which  results  from  restraining  rather  than  cultivating 
fluency ;  and  his  manner  is  adapted  to  his  theme.  He 
rarely,  if  ever,  mistakes  "  emotions  for  conceptions." 
He  selects  with  great  delicacy  and  precision  the  exact 
phrase  which  best  expresses  or  suggests  his  idea.  He 
colors  his  style  with  the  skill  of  a  painter ;  and  in  com- 
pelling words  to  picture  thought,  he  not  only  has  the 
warm  flush  and  bright  tints  of  language  at  his  command, 
but  he  arrests  its  evanescent  hues.  In  the  higher  depart- 
ment of  his  art,  —  that  of  so  combining  his  words  an'i 


POETS    AND   POETRY    OF    AMERICA.  61 

.mages  that  they  make  music  to  the  soul  as  well  as  to 
the  ear,  and  convey  not  only  his  feelings  and  thoughts 
but  also  the  very  tone  and  condition  of  the  soul  in  which 
they  have  their  being,  —  he  has  given  exquisite  examples 
in  "  Maidenhood "  and  "  Endymion."  In  what  Mr. 
Griswold  very  tnily  calls  one  of  his  best  poems,  "  The 
Skeleton  in  Armor,"  he  manages  a  difficult  verse  with 
great  skill.  There  is  much  of  the  old  Norse  energy  in 
this  composition,  —  that  rough,  ravenous  battle-spirit, 
which,  for  a  time,  makes  the  reader's  blood  rush  and 
tingle  in  warlike  sympathy.  But  the  manner  in  which 
the  passions  of  the  savage  are  modified  by  the  sentiment 
of  the  lover,  and  the  stout,  death-defying  heart  of  the 
warrior  yields  to  that  gentle  but  irresistible  power  which 
conquers  without  arms  and  enslaves  without  fetters,  cor- 
stitutes  the  great  charm  of  the  poem. 

"  Once  as  I  tnld  in  glee 
Tales  of  the  stormy  sea, 
Soft  eyes  looked  love  on  me, 

Burning,  yet  tender ; 
And,  as  the  white  stars  shine 
On  the  dark  Norway  pine. 
On  that  dark  heart  of  mine 

Fell  their  soft  splendor." 

It  would  be  easy  to  say  much  of  Longfellow's  singular 
felicity  in  addressing  the  moral  nature  of  man.  It  has 
been  said  of  him,  sometimes  in  derision,  that  all  his 
poems  have  a  moral.  There  is,  doubtless,  a  tendency  in 
his  mind  to  evolve  some  useful  meaning  from  his  finest 
imaginations,  and  to  preach  when  he  should  only  sing  ; 
but  we  still  think  that  the  moral  of  his  compositions  is 
rarely  thrust  intrudingly  forward,  but  rather  Hows  natu- 
rally from  the  subject.  There  is  nothing  of  the  spirit 
of  Joseph  Surface  in  his  genius;  he  does  not  pride  hun- 


62     '  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

self  on  being  a  man  of  "  noble  sentiments."  The  moral- 
ity of  the  "  Psalm  of  Life  "  is  commonplace.  If  versified 
by  a  poetaster,  it  would  inspire  no  deep  feeling,  and 
strengthen  no  high  purposes.  But  the  worn  axioms  of 
didactic  verse  have  the  breath  of  a  new  life  breathed 
into  them  when  they  are  touched  by  genius.  We  are 
made  to  love  and  to  follow  what  before  we  merely  as- 
sented to  with  a  lazy  acquiescence. 

"  Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 
We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 
And,  departing,  leare  behind  us 
Footprints  on  the  sands  of  lime. 

"  Footprints  that  perhaps  another, 
Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 
A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother, 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again." 

This  is  very  different  from  saying,  that,  if  we  follow 
the  example  of  the  great  and  good,  we  shall  live  a  noble 
life,  and  that  the  records  of  our  deeds  and  struggles  will 
strengthen  the  breasts  of  those  who  come  after  us  to  do 
and  to  suffer. 

Longfellow's  verse  occupies  a  position  half  way  be- 
tween the  poetry  of  actual  life  and  the  poetry  of  tran:?- 
cendentalism.  Like  all  neutrals,  he  is  liable  to  attack 
from  the  zealots  of  both  parties  ;  but  it  seems  to  us  that  he 
has  hit  the  exact  point,  beyond  which  no  poet  can  at  pre- 
sent go,  without  being  neglected  or  ridiculed.  He  idealizes 
real  life ;  he  elicits  new  meaning  from  many  of  its  rough 
shows ;  he  clothes  subtle  and  delicate  thoughts  in  familiar 
imagery ;  he  embodies  high  moral  sentiment  in  beautiful 
and  ennobling  forms  ;  he  inweaves  the  golden  threads  of 
spiritual  being  into  the  texture  of  common  existence ;  he 
discerns  and  addresses  some  of  the  finest  sympathies  o\ 


POETS    AND    rOETRY    OF    AMERICA. 


63 


:ne  heart ;  but  he  rarely  soars  into  those  regx)ns  of 
ibstrdct  imagination,  where  the  bodily  eye  cannot  fol- 
low, but  where  that  of  the  seer  is  gifted  with  a  "  per- 
vading vision."  Though  he  fixes  a  keen  glance  on  those 
filmy  and  fleeting  shades  of  thought  and  feeling  which 
common  minds  overlook,  or  are  incompetent  to  grasp, 
he  has  his  eye  open  a  little  wider,  perhaps,  when  its  gaze 
is  directed  to  the  outward  world,  than  when  it  is  turned 
within.  His  imagination,  in  the  sphere  of  its  activity, 
is  almost  perfect  in  its  power  to  shape  in  visible  forms, 
or  to  suggest,  by  cunning  verbal  combinations,  the  feel- 
ing or  thought  he  desires  to  express ;  but  it  lacks  the 
strength  and  daring,  the  wide  magnificent  sweep,  which 
characterize  the  imagination  of  such  poets  as  Shelley. 
He  has  little  of  the  unrest  and  frenzy  of  the  bard.  We 
know,  in  reading  him,  that  he  will  never  miss  his  mark; 
that  he  will  risk  nothing;  that  he  Avill  aim  to  do  only 
M-hat  he  feels  he  can  do  well.  An  air  of  repose,  of 
quiet  power,  is  around  his  compositions.  He  rarely  loses 
sight  of  common  interests  and  sympathies.  He  displays 
none  of  the  stinging  earnestness,  the  vehement  sensibil- 
ity, the  gusts  of  passion,  which  distinguish  poets  of  the 
impulsive  class.  His  spiritualism  is  not  seen  in  wild 
struggles  after  an  ineffable  Something,  for  which  earth 
can  afford  but  imperfect  symbols,  and  of  which  even 
abstract  words  can  suggest  little  knowledge.  He  appears 
perfectly  satisfied  with  liis  work.  Like  his  own  "  Village 
Blacksmith,"  he  retires  every  night  with  the  feeling  that 
something  has  been  attempted,  and  something  done. 

The  intellectual  tendencies  of  Longfellow,  judging 
from  the  mystical  charm  which  many  of  his  poems  pos- 
sess, seem  to  be  purely  spiritual.  But  his  keen  sense 
of  what  is  physically  pleasurable  keeps  them  in  check 


64  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

and  gives  a  more  sensuous  property  to  his  imagination 
than  what  simply  inheres  in  it.  Were  it  not  that  young 
misses  have  made  the  phrase  of  equivocal  meaning,  we 
would  call  him  "  a  beautiful  poet."  He  has  a  feeling 
exquisitely  fine  for  what  is  generally  understood  by  the 
term  beauty,  —  that  is,  for  actual,  earthly  beauty,  ideal- 
ized and  refined  by  the  imagination,  embodied  in  grace- 
ful shapes,  or  beheld  in  that  soft,  dreamy  light  of  fancy, 
which  makes  it  more  witching  to  the  senses  than  when 
seen  in  bolder  outlines.  There  is  a  slight  dash  of  epi- 
cureanism in  his  conception  of  the  quality,  when  his 
sentiment  and  sensations  are  commingled  by  his  imag- 
ination ;  and  a  sense  of  luxury  steals  over  the  heart,  in 
reading  many  of  his  apparently  most  spiritualized  de- 
scriptions. 

His  sense  of  beauty,  though  uncommonly  vivid,  is  not 
the  highest  of  which  the  mind  is  capable.  He  has  little 
conception  of  its  mysterious  spirit ;  —  of  that  Beauty,  of 
which  all  physical  loveliness  is  but  the  shadow,  which 
awes  and  thrills  the  soul  into  which  it  enters,  and  lifts 
the  imagination  into  regions  "  to  which  the  heaven 
of  heavens  is  but  a  veil."  His  mind  never  appears 
oppressed,  nor  his  sight  dimmed,  by  its  exceeding  glory. 
He  feels,  and  loves,  and  creates,  what  is  beautiful ;  but 
he  hymns  no  reverence,  he  pays  no  adoration,  to  the 
Spirit  of  Beauty.  He  would  never  exclaim  with  Shel- 
ley, "  O  awful  Loveliness  I  " 

We  say  this  rather  to  make  a  distinction  than  to  note 
a  fault ;  to  show  how  far  the  spiritual  element  in  Long- 
fellow's poetry  is  modified  by  the  sensuous  properties  of 
his  genius,  than  to  blame  him  for  the  combination. 
Indeed,  by  a  majority  of  critics  and  readers,  this  com- 
bination is  deemed  a  high  merit.      If  they  found  anv 


POETS   AND    POETRY    OF    AMERICA.  65 

fault  with  Longfellow,  it  would  be,  that  he  is  too  tran- 
scendental. It  is  the  cant  nowadays,  that  poetry  is 
soaring  beyond  the  ken  of  u.s  "  poor  humans."  A  poet, 
who  occasionally  dwells  in  abstract  imaginations,  is 
pelted  with  pet  epithets,  and  accused  of  lacking  human 
sympathy.  This  arises,  we  think,  from  a  too  narrow 
definition  of  the  term.  It  is  true,  that  men  have  a 
quicker  sense  of  their  relations  to  external  nature  and 
to  each  other  than  to  God;  to  shows  rather  than  to 
substances  ;  and  their  hearts  are  more  readily  kindled  by 
what  is  addressed  to  their  blood  and  physical  tempera- 
ment, than  by  what  speaks  to  their  spiritual  nature. 
Siill,  he  must  be  a  daring  and  somewhat  impudent  per- 
son, who  decides  upon  the  whole  reach  of  human  sjin- 
pathies  by  the  range  of  his  own,  and  calls  that  mean- 
ingless and  unprofitable  which  his  own  heart  echoes 
feebly  or  not  at  all.  Lust,  falsehood,  and  intemperance, 
have  been  so  often  idealized  by  poets,  and  have  found  so 
ready  a  response  from  "human  sympathies,"  that  in 
some  minds  they  have  become  significant  of  the  whole 
meaning  of  the  phrase.  If  the  term  human  weakness, 
or  criminality,  were  substituted  for  it  in  many  cases, 
there  would  be  a  gain  to  the  science  of  definition. 
Every  man  has  a  theory  of  human  sympathies  to  fit  his 
own  tastes ;  and  his  system  is  often  so  sharp  a  satire  on 
his  moral  perceptions,  that  he  would  manifest  much 
more  prudence  in  its  concealment  than  in  shouting  it 
forth  in  the  markets  and  public  places  of  criticism. 

The  sympathies  which  Longfellow  addresses  are  fine 
and  poetical,  but  not  the  most  subtle  of  which  the  soul 
is  capable.  The  kindly  aflfections,  the  moral  sentiments, 
the  joys,  sorrows,  regrets,  aspirations,  loves,  and  wishes 
of  the  heart,  he  has  consecrated  by  new  ideal  forms  and 
5 


66  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

ascriptions.  He  inculcates  with  much  force  that  poetic 
stoicism  which  teaches  us  to  reckon  earthly  evils  at  their 
true  worth,  and  endure  with  patience  what  results 
inevitably  from  our  condition,  —  as  in  the  "Psalm  of 
Life,"  "  Excelsior,"  "  The  Light  of  Stars,"  and  in  pas- 
sages of  other  poems.  "  The  Village  Blacksmith  "  and 
"  God's  Acre "  have  a  rough  grandeur,  and  "  Maiden- 
hood "  and  "  Endymion "  a  soft,  sweet,  mystical  charm, 
which  advantageously  display  the  range  of  his  powers. 
Perhaps  "  Maidenhood  "  is  the  most  finely  poetical  of  all 
his  poems.  Nothing  of  its  kind  can  be  more  exquisitely 
beautiful  than  this  delicate  creation.  It  appears  like  the 
utterance  of  a  dream.  In  "  The  Spanish  Student,"  the 
affluence  of  his  imagination  in  images  of  grace,  grandeur, 
and  beauty,  is  most  strikingly  manifested.  The  oojec- 
tion  to  it,  as  a  play,  is  its  lack  of  skill  or  power  in  the 
dramatic  exhibition  of  character ;  but  read  merely  as  a 
poem  cast  in  the  form  of  dialogue,  it  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  in  Amicrican  literature.  None  of  his  other 
pieces  so  well  illustrates  all  his  poetical  qualities,  —  his 
imagination,  his  fancy,  his  sentiment,  and  his  manner. 
It  seems  to  comprehend  the  whole  extent  of  his  genms. 

To  write  good  comic  verse  is  a  different  thing  from 
writing  good  comic  poetry.  A  jest  or  a  sharp  saying 
may  be  easily  made  to  rhyme ;  but  to  blend  ludicrous 
ideas  with  fancy  and  imagination,  and  display  in  their 
conception  and  expression  the  same  poetic  qualities 
usually  exercised  in  serious  composition,  is  a  rare  dis- 
tinction. Among  American  poets,  we  know  of  no  one 
who  excels  Holmes  in  this  difficult  branch  of  the  art. 
Many  of  his  pleasant  lyrics  seem  not  so  much  the  off- 
spring of  wit,  as  of  fancy  and  sentiment  turned  In.  a 
humorous  direction.     His  manner  of  satirizing;  the  foi 


rOETS    AND    POETRY    OF   AMERICA.  67 

bles,  follies,  vanities,  and  affectations  of  conventional  life, 
IS  altogether  peculiar  and  original.     He  looks  at  folly 
and  pretension  from  the  highest  pinnacle  of  scorn.    They 
never  provoke  his  indignation,  for  to  him  they  are  too 
mean  to  justify  anger,  and  hardly  worthy  of  petulance. 
His  light,  glancing  irony,  and  fleering  sarcasm,  are  the 
more  effective,  from  the  impertinence  of  his  benevolent 
sympathies.      He  wonders,  hopes,  wishes,   titters,  and 
cries,  with  his  victims.     He  practises  on  them  the  leger- 
demain of  contempt.     H?,  kills  with  a  sly  stab,  and  pro- 
ceeds on   his  way  as  if  "nothing   in   particular"  had 
happened.      He  picks  his  teeth  with  cool   unconcern, 
while  looking  down  on  the  captives  of  his  wit,  as  if  their 
destruction  conferred  no  honor  upon  himself,  and  was 
unimportant  to  the  rest  of  mankind.     He  makes  them 
ridicule  themselves,  by  giving  a  voice  to  their  motions 
and  manners.     He  translates  the  conceited  smirk  of  the 
coxcomb  into   felicitous  words.     The  vacant  look   and 
trite  talk  of  the  bore   he  links  with  subtle   analogies. 
He  justifies  the  egotist  unto  himself  by  a  series  of  mock- 
mg   sophisms.      He   expresses  the  voiceless    folly  and 
affectation  of  the  ignorant  and  brainless  by  cunningly 
contrived  phrases  and  apt  imagery.     He   idealizes  non- 
sense, pertness,  and  aspiring  dulness.     The  movement 
of  his  wit  is  so  swift,  that  its  presence  is  known  only 
when  it  strikes.     He  will   sometimes,  as  it  were,  blind 
the  eyes  o"  his  victims  with  diamond  dust,  and  then  pelt 
them  pitilessly  witii  scoffing  compliments.     He  passes 
from  the    sharp,  stinging  gibe  to    the    most  grotesque 
exaggerations  of  drollery,  with  a  bewildering  rapidity. 

Holmes  is  also  a  poet  of  sentiment  and  passion. 
"  Old  Ironsides,"  "  The  Steamboat,"  "  Qui  Vive,"  and 
numerous  passages  of  "Poetry,"  display  a  lyrical  fire 


68  ESSAYS    AND   REVIE-W^. 

and  inspiration  which  should  not  be  allowed  to  decay  fol 
want  of  care  and  fuel.  In  those  poems  of  fancy  and  sen- 
timent, where  the  exceeding  richness  and  softness  of  his 
diction  seem  trembling  on  the  verge  of  meretricioiis 
ornament,  he  is  preserved  from  slipping  into  Delia  Crus- 
canism  by  the  manly  energy  of  his  nature,  and  his  keen 
perception  of  the  ridiculous.  Those  who  know  him  only 
as  a  comic  lyrist,  as  the  libellous  laureate  of  chirping 
folly  and  presumptuous  egotism,  would  be  surprised  at 
the  clear  sweetness  and  skylark  thrill  of  his  serious  and 
sentimental  compositions. 

Of  Willis  G.  Clark,  Mr.  Griswold  writes  :  —  "  His 
metrical  writings  are  all  distinguished  for  a  graceful  and 
elegant  diction,  thoughts  morally  and  poetically  beauti- 
ful, and  chaste  and  appropriate  imagery."  This  praise 
is  substantiateu  by  the  extracts  which  follow  it.  There 
is  much  purity  and  strength  of  feeling  in  many  of  Mr. 
Clark's  poems.  Though  not  marked  by  much  power  of 
imagination,  they  are  replete  with  fancy  and  sentiment, 
and  have  often  a  searching  pathos  and  a  mournful 
beauty,  which  find  their  way  quietly  to  the  heart. 

C.  P.  Cranch  has  worked  with  some  success  in  the 
transcendental  vein.  The  "  Hours,"  "  Stanzas,"  "  My 
Thoughts,"  are  specimens  of  the  results  of  his  labors. 
William  Pitt  Palmer,  whose  name  we  see  occasionally 
flitting  through  the  periodical  world,  has  written  a 
poem  on  "Light,"  in  the  stanza  of  Shelley's  "Cloud," 
far  superior  in  diction  and  imagery  to  a  large  portion  of 
our  miscellaneous  poetry.  Mr.  Griswold  would  have 
done  well  to  place  him  in  the  body  of  the  volume,  instead 
of  the  Appendix.  He  is  worthy  of  a  more  prominent 
station  than  he  occupies. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier  is  one  of  our  ipost  char* 


POETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AMI  "RICA.  69 

acteristic  poets.  Few  excel  him  in  warmth  of  temper- 
ament. Old  John  Dennis,  the  Giflbrd  of  Queen  Anne's 
time,  describes  genius  as  caused  "  by  a  furious  joy  and 
pride  of  soul  on  the  conception  of  an  extraordinary  hint. 
Many  men  have  their  hints,  witliout  their  motions  of 
fury  and  pride  of  soul,  because  they  want  fire  enough  to 
agitate  their  spirits;  and  these  we  call  cold  writers. 
Others,  who  have  a  great  deal  of  fire,  but  have  not  excel- 
lent organs,  feel  the  forementioned  motions,  without  the 
extraordinary  hints ;  and  these  we  call  fustian  WTiters." 
Whittier  has  this  "furious  joy"  and  "pride  of  soul," 
even  when  the  "  hints  "  are  not  extraordinary ;  but  he 
never  falls  into  absolute  rant  and  fustian.  A  common 
thought  comes  from  his  pen  "  rammed  with  life."  He 
seems,  in  some  of  his  lyrics,  to  pour  out  his  blood  with 
his  lines.  There  is  a  rush  of  passion  in  his  verse,  which 
sweeps  everything  along  with  it.  His  fancy  and  imagi- 
nation can  hardly  keep  pace  with  their  fiery  companion. 
His  vehement  sensibility  will  not  allow  the  inventive 
faculties  fully  to  complete  what  they  may  have  com- 
menced. The  stormy  qualities  of  his  mind,  acting  at 
the  suggestions  of  conscience,  produce  a  kind  of  military 
morality  which  uses  all  the  deadly  arms  of  verbal  war' 
fare.  When  well  intrenched  in  abstract  right,  he  always 
assumes  a  hostile  attitude  towards  the  champions  or 
exponents  of  abstract  wrong.  He  aims  to  give  his  song 
"  a  rude  martial  tone,  —  a  blow  in  every  thought."  His 
invective  is  merciless  and  undistinguishing ;  he  almost 
screams  with  rage  and  indignation.  Occasionally,  the 
extreme  bitterness  and  fierceness  of  his  declamation 
degenerate  into  mere  shrewishness  and  scolding.  Of 
late,  he  has  somewhat  pruned  the  rank  luxuriance  of  his 
style.     The  "  Lines  on  the  Death  of  Lucy  Hooper,' 


7U  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

«'  llaphael,"  "  Follen,"  "  Memories,"  among  the  poe.ns 
in  his  last  published  volume,  are  indications  that  his 
mind  is  not  without  subtle  imagination  and  delicate  feel- 
ing, as  well  as  tnaculent  energy.  There  is  much  spirit- 
ual beauty  in  these  little  compositions.  It  is  difficult  to 
conceive  how  the  man  who  can  pour  out  such  torrents  of 
passionate  feeling,  and  who  evidently  loves  to  see  his 
words  tipped  with  fire,  can  at  the  same  time  write  such 
graceful  and  thoughtful  stanzas  as  these  :  — 

"  A  beautiful  and  happy  girl, 

With  step  as  soft  as  summer  air, 
And  fresh  young  lip  and  brow  of  pearl, 
Shadowed  by  many  a  careless  curl 

Of  unconfined  and  flowing  hair: 
A  seeming  child  in  everything, 

Save  thoughtful  brow  and  ripening  charms, 
As  Nature  wears  the  smile  of  Spring 

When  sinkinif  into  Summer's  arms. 

"How  thrills  once  more  the  lengthening  chain 

Of  memory  at  the  thought  of  thee  ! 
Old  hopes,  that  long  in  dust  have  lain. 
Old  dreams,  come  thronging  back  again, 

And  boyhood  lives  again  in  me  ; 
I  feel  its  glow  upon  my  cheek, 

Its  fulness  of  the  heart  is  mine, 
As  "when  I  learned  to  hear  thee  speak, 

Or  raised  my  doubtful  eye  to  thine. 

"  I  hear  again  thy  low  replies, 

I  feel  thy  arm  within  my  own, 
And  timidly  again  uprise 
The  fringed  lids  of  hazel  eyes, 

With  soft  brown  tresses  overblown. 
Ah!  memories  of  sweet  summer  eves. 

Of  moonlit  wave  and  willowy  way, 
Of  stars  and  flowers  and  dewy  leaves, 

And  smiles  and  tones  more  dear  than  they  I 

*  4i  *  *  * 


POETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AMERICA.  71 

"  And  wider  yet  in  thought  and  deed 

Our  still  diverging  paths  incline, 
Thine  the  Genevan's  sternest  creed, 
While  answers  to  my  spirit's  need 

The  Yorkshire  peasant's  simple  line  ; 
For  thee  the  priestly  rite  and  prayer, 

And  holy  day  and  solemn  psalm  ; 
For  me  the  silent  reverence,  where 

My  brethren  gather,  slow  and  calm." 

Whittier  has  the  soul  of  a  great  poet,  and  we  should 
not  be  surprised  if  he  attained  the  height  of  excellence 
in  his  art.  The  faults  of  his  mind,  springing  from 
excessive  fluency  and  a  too  excitable  sensibility,  exag- 
gerated as  they  have  been  by  the  necessities  of  hasty 
composition,  have  prevented  him  from  displaying  as  yet 
the  full  power  of  his  genius.  It  is  by  no  means  unlikely, 
that,  when  he  has  somewhat  tamed  the  impetuosity  of 
his  feelings,  and  brooded  with  more  quiet  intensity  over 
the  large  stores  of  poetry  which  lie  chaotically  in  his 
nature,  he  may  yet  produce  a  work  which  will  rival,  and 
perhaps  excel,  the  creations  of  his  most  distinguished 
contemporaries.  He  has  that  vigor,  truthfulness,  and 
manliness  of  character,  —  that  freedom  from  conven- 
tional shackles,  —  that  careless  disregard  of  Mr.  Pretty- 
man's  notion  as  to  what  constitutes  the  high,  and  Miss 
Betty's  notion  as  to  what  constitutes  the  low,  —  that 
native  energy  and  independence  of  nature,  —  which 
form  the  basis  of  the  character  of  every  great  genius, 
and  without  which  poetry  is  apt  to  be  a  mere  echo  of 
the  drawing-room,  and  to  idealize  affectations  instead  of 
realities. 

We  are  glad  to  perceive  that  Mr.  Griswold  has  done 
some  justice  to  the  poetical  powers  of  Mrs.  Maria 
Brooks,  author  of  "  Zophitl,  or  the  Bride  of  Seven." 


72  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS 

This  lady  has  generally  written  under  the  name  of 
Maria  del  Occidente.  Her  poems  evince  mental  quali- 
ties, which,  if  they  had  been  employed  on  themes  or 
incidents  more  in  accordance  with  popular  feeling  than 
those  she  has  chosen,  would  have  given  her  the  first 
place  among  American  poets  of  her  own  sex.  Her  mind 
has  a  wider  sweep,  and  is  more  poetical  in  its  tendencies, 
than  that  of  any  of  her  female  contemporaries.  In  fancy 
and  passion,  she  has  hardly  been  excelled  by  any  Ameri- 
can writer.  Her  mind  is  stored  with  knowledge,  her 
sense  of  harmony  is  exceedingly  fine,  and  her  command 
ot  language  is  almost  despotic.  She  possesses  great  fer- 
tility of  fancy,  and  a  luxurious  sense  of  the  beauty  of 
outward  objects.  Nature  to  her  is  "  an  appetite  and  a 
passion."  In  the  description  of  tropical  scenery,  there  is 
a  delicious  richness,  a  dreamy  beauty,  and  a  "  mazy- 
running  soul  of  harmony  "  in  her  verse,  which  not  only 
bring  the  scene  vividly  to  the  eye,  but  render  it  percepti 
ble  to  the  other  senses.  She  has  great  warmth  and 
occasional  intensity  of  feeling,  and  gives  it  free  and  bold 
expression.  Her  poem  of  "  Zophitl,"  first  published  in 
London,  in  1833,  is  a  remarkable  production.  It  has 
been  much  praised  in  England,  but  seems  to  be  little 
known  in  this  country ;  and  by  many  it  is  still  con- 
sidered the  work  of  an  Englishwoman.  When  repub- 
lished in  Boston,  it  was  hailed  by  most  of  the  critics 
with  admiring  ignorance  or  pert  stupidity.  Some  were 
astonished  to  find  a  woman  of  the  nineteenth  century 
evincinsf  more  knowledge  of  Plato  and  Hafiz  than  of 
Bulwer  or  Hannah  More  ;  others  were  shocked,  that  she 
should  so  far  wander  from  the  "  legitimate  sphere  "  of 
female  composition  as  to  attempt  something  more  than 
the  versilication  of  sermons,  or  the  vivification  of  com- 


POETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AMERICA.  73 

monplaces.  Though  the  subject  is,  on  the  whole,  deli- 
cately treated,  there  are  a  few  stanzas  which  might  have 
been  omitted  with  advantage  to  the  general  refinement 
of  expression.  These  were  darted  upon  by  persons 
endowed  with  a  sharp  scent  for  indelicacy,  and  repre- 
sented, with  certain  mysterious  nods,  winks,  and  the 
other  signs  of  prudery's  freemasonry,  as  samples  of  the 
poem ;  and,  accordingly,  the  most  unjustly  neglected 
work  of  genius  ever  published  in  the  United  States 
came  near  obtaining  the  dubious  honor  of  circulating 
over  the  whole  land  as  a  book  "  which  no  young  lady 
should  read."  We  think  that  Mr.  Griswold's  selections 
from  "  ZtSphiel,"  although  they  cannot  give  a  full  im- 
pression of  its  merits,  prove  that  it  contains  poetical 
qualities  which  would  reflect  no  discredit  upon  poets 
of  far  greater  popularity. 

Mrs.  E.  Oakes  Smith,  of  New  York,  has  written  a 
number  of  short  poems  of  much  beauty,  purity,  and 
spirituality.  "The  Sinless  Child"  and  "The  Acorn" 
manifest  qualities  of  mind  and  heart  which  are  worthy 
of  a  more  thorough  development.  They  display  depth 
of  feeling  and  affluence  of  fancy,  and  are  singularly  pure 
and  sweet  in  their  tone.  "  The  Sinless  Child,"  though 
deficient  in  artistical  finish,  contains  many  passages  of  a 
high  order  of  poetry,  and  is  stainless  as  its  subject.  It 
gives  evidence,  also,  of  a  capacity  for  a  more  extended 
sweep  over  the  domain  of  thought  and  emotion,  Mrs. 
Smith  is  not  merely  a  smooth  and  skilful  versifier,  in- 
dulging occasionally  in  a  flirtation  with  poetry,  to  while 
away  the  time,  but  one  whose  productions  are  true 
exponents  of  her  inward  life,  and  display  the  freshness 
and  fervor  which  come  from  individuality  of  character 
and  feelmg.      She  speaks  of  what  she  knows  and  of 


74  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

what  she  has  felt.  Her  theory  of  morals  does  not  seem 
to  have  come  into  her  soul  through  the  inlet  of  the  ear. 
Her  truthfulness  is  a  prominent  characteristic  of  her 
genius. 

The  poems  of  Mrs.  Sigourney  are  very  numerous  and 
popular.  According  to  Mr.  Griswold,  she  has  published 
six  or  seven  volumes,  of  which  the  last  appeared  in  1841. 
The  moral  character  of  her  writings  is  unexceptionable. 
She  possesses  great  facility  in  versification,  and  is  fluent 
both  in  thoughts  and  language.  But  much  that  she  has 
written  is  deformed  by  the  triteness  and  irregularity  con- 
sequent upon  hasty  composition,  and  hardly  does  justice 
to  her  real  powers.  "  Niagara,"  "  The  Death  of  an 
Infant,"  "Winter,"  and  "  Napoleon's  Epitaph,"  are 
favorable  specimens  of  her  talents. 

Mrs.  Child  has  written  little  verse,  but  the  few  metri- 
cal pieces  which  pass  under  her  name  are  almost  as  good 
as  her  best  prose.  Hannah  F.  Gould  is  a  name  so  pleas- 
antly interwoven  with  pure  fancies  and  good  thoughts, 
that  it  is  an  unpleasant  task  to  sift  her  productions,  for 
the  purpose  of  selecting  those  of  enduring  value.  She 
is  responsible  for  three  volumes  of  verse,  all  of  which 
have  been  read.  Mrs.  Amelia  B.  Welby,  a  young  poet- 
ess of  the  west,  has  considerable  force  of  expression, 
delicacy  of  fancy,  and  the  poetic  feeling  in  large  meas- 
ure. Mrs.  Elizabeth  Hall  has  acquired  much  reputa- 
tion by  her  dramatic  poem  of  "  Miriam."  Elizabeth  F. 
EUett,  Anne  Peyre  Dinnies,  (author  of  that  noble  ex- 
pression of  high  feeling,  "  The  Wife,")  Emma  C.  Em- 
bury, Lucy  Hooper,  Lucretia  and  Margaret  Davidson, 
receive  the  due  honors  of  Mr.  Griswold's  pen  anrt 
scissors.  He  makes  numerous  selections  from  the 
female  poets. 


POETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AMERICA.  75 

We  wish  that  we  had  space  to  do  some  justice  to  the 
quick,  teeming  fancy  of  Willis,  a  quality  which  he  exer- 
cises in  the  serv'ice  both  of  sentiment  and  humor.  But 
we  have  noticed  his  poems  at  length  in  a  former  number 
of  this  journal,  to  which  we  must  refer  our  readers  for 
an  estimate  of  his  powers.  Pierpont  has  displayed  much 
lyrical  enthusiasm  and  forcible  expression,  which  are 
worthy  of  more  than  a  passing  tribute.  Drake's  delicate 
creation,  "  The  Culprit  Fay,"  and  his  stirring  lyric  on 
"  The  American  Flag,"  deserve  commemoration.  Hill- 
house  has  written  much  which  will  not  be  forgotten. 
"  Hadad  "  is  a  chaste  and  beautiful  production,  evincing 
skill  and  taste  in  composition,  and  pure  and  melodious 
in  its  tone.  The  "  sunset-tinted  haziness "  through 
which  the  fine  humanity  and  suggestive  imagination  of 
Lowell  are  seen,  would  delay  the  course  of  any  critic  vvho 
was  not  in  desperate  haste.  Mr.  Griswold  has  hardly 
done  him  justice  in  the  selections  contained  in  this 
volume.  There  are  many  excellent  thoughts  and  imagi- 
nations scattered  over  the  compositions  of  Brainard,  Pike, 
Dawes,  Wilde,  Ware.  Wilcox,  Neal,  Peabody,  Sands 
Lunt,  Clarke,  and  others  in  Mr.  Griswold's  collection, 
which  if  the  reader  cannot  discover  himself,  he  will  be 
assisted  in  his  search  by  the  editor's  kindly  and  gonial 
notices.  Had  we  room  for  extracts,  we  might  select 
many  pieces  of  merit  from  the  writings  of  American 
poets  of  the  second  class  ;  but  time  and  space  are  par- 
ticularly inexorable  to  reviewers,  and  we  must  pause. 

We  can  hardly  conceive  that  a  reasonable  being 
should  look  witii  coolness  or  dislike  upon  any  efforts  to 
establish  a  national  literature,  of  which  poetry  is  such  an 
important  element.  The  man  whose  heart  is  capable 
of  any  patriotic   emotion,  wlio   fcols   his  pulse  quickeo 


(b  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

tvhen  the  idea  of  his  country  is  brought  home  to  hin, 
must  desire  that  country  to  possess  a  voice  more  majestic 
than  the  roar  of  party,  and  more  potent  than  the  whine 
of  sects,  —  a  voice  which  would  breathe  energy  and 
awaken  hope  wherever  its  kindling  tones  were  heard. 
Ihe  life  of  our  native  land,  —  the  inner  spirit  which  ani- 
mates its  institutions, — the  new  ideas  and  principles  of 
which  it  is  the  representative, — these  every  patriot  must 
wish  to  behold  reflected  from  the  broad  mirror  of  a  com- 
prehensive and  soul-animating  literature.  The  true 
vitality  of  a  nation  is  not  seen  in  the  triumphs  of  its 
industry,  the  extent  of  its  conquests,  or  the  reach  of  its 
empire ;  but  in  its  intellectual  dominion.  Posterity 
passes  over  statistical  tables  of  trade  and  population,  to 
search  lor  the  records  of  the  mind  and  heart.  It  is  of 
little  moment  how  many  millions  of  men  were  included 
at-any  time  under  the  name  of  one  people,  if  they  have 
left  no  intellectual  testimonials  of  their  mode  and  manner 
of  existence,  no  "  foot-prints  on  the  sands  of  time."  The 
heart  refuses  to  glow  at  the  most  astounding  array  of 
figures.  A  nation  lives  only  through  its  literature,  and 
its  mental  life  is  immortal.  The  capricious  tyranny  of 
Dionysius  might  well  inspire  fear  in  those  whose  lives 
and  fortunes  were  subject  to  his  passions  and  whims ; 
but  it  can  exercise  no  control  over  us.  It  died  with  the 
feeble  arm  of  him  who  wielded  it.  But  the  power  of 
Plato  passed  not  away  with  his  corporeal  frame.  Homer 
still  sings,  Socrates  still  speaks  to  us.  Greece  yet  live? 
in  her  literature,  more  real  to  our  minds,  nearer  to  our 
affections,  than  many  European  kingdoms.  The  true 
monarchs  of  a  county  are  those  whose  sway  is  over 
thought  and  emotion.     They  are 


POETS    AND    POETRY    OF    AMERICA.  7/ 

"  The  dead  but  sceptred  sovereigns,  who  still  rule 
Our  spirits  from  their  urns." 

America  abounds  in  the  material  of  poetry.  Its 
history,  its  scenery,  the  structure  of  its  social  life,  the 
thoughts  which  pervade  its  political  forms,  the  meaning 
which  underlies  its  hot  contests,  are  all  capable  of  being 
exhibited  in  a  poetical  aspect.  Carlyle,  in  speaking  of 
the  settlement  of  Plymouth  by  the  Pilgrims,  remarks  that, 
if  we  had  the  open  sense  of  the  Greeks,  we  should  have 
"  found  a  poem  here ;  one  of  nature's  own  poems,  such 
as  she  writes  in  broad  facts  over  great  continents."  If 
we  have  a  literature,  it  should  be  a  national  literature ; 
no  feeble  or  sonorous  echo  of  Germany  or  England,  but 
essentially  American  in  its  tone  and  object.  No  matter 
how  meritorious  a  composition  may  be,  as  long  as  any 
foreign  nation  can  say  that  it  has  done  the  same  thing 
better,  so  long  shall  we  be  spoken  of  with  contempt,  or  in 
a  spirit  of  impertinent  patronage.  We  begin  to  sicken 
of  the  custom,  now  so  common,  of  presenting  even  our 
best  poems  to  the  attention  of  foreigners  with  a  depre- 
cating, apologetic  air;  as  if  their  acceptance  of  the 
offering,  with  a  few  soft  and  silky  compliments,  would 
be  an  act  of  kindness  demanding  our  warmest  acknowl- 
edgements. If  the  Quarterly  Keview  or  Blackwood's 
Magazine  speaks  well  of  an  American  production,  we 
think  that  we  can  praise  it  ourselves,  without  incurring 
the  reproach  of  bad  taste.  The  folly  we  yearly  practise, 
of  flying  into  a  passion  with  some  inferior  English 
writer,  who  caricatures  our  faults,  and  tells  dull  jokes 
about  his  tour  through  the  land,  has  only  the  effect  to 
exalt  an  insignificant  scribbler  into  notoriety,  and  give  a 
nominal  value  to  his  recorded  impertinence.  If  the  mind 
end  heart  of  the  country  had  its  due  expression,  if  its  lil'd 


78  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

had  taken  form  in  a  literature  worthy  of  itself,  we  shoula 
pay  little  regard  to  the  childish  tattling  of  a  pert  coxcomb, 
who  was  discontented  with  our  taverns,  or  the  execrations 
of  some  bluff  sea-captain,  who  was  shocked  Avith  our 
manners.  The  uneasy  sense  we  have  of  something  in 
our  national  existence  which  has  not  yet  been  fitly 
expressed,  gives  poignancy  to  the  least  ridicule  launched 
at  faults  and  follies  which  lie  on  the  superficies  of  our 
life.  Every  person  feels  that  a  book  which  condemns 
the  country  for  its  peculiarities  of  manners  and  customs 
does  not  pierce  into  the  heart  of  the  matter,  and  is 
essentially  worthless.  If  Bishop  Berkeley,  when  he 
visited  Malebranche,  had  paid  exclusive  attention  to  the 
habitation,  raiment,  and  manners  of  the  man,  and 
neglected  the  conversation  of  the  metaphysican,  and, 
when  he  returned  to  England,  had  entertained  Pope, 
Swift,  Gay,  and  Arbuthnot,  with  satirical  descriptions  of 
the  "  complement  extern"  of  his  eccentric  host,  he  would 
have  acted  just  as  wisely  as  many  an  English  tourist, 
with  whose  malicious  pleasantry  on  our  habits  of  chew- 
ing, spitting,  and  eating,  we  are  silly  enough  to  quarrel. 
To  the  United  States,  in  reference  to  the  pop-gun  shots  of 
foreign  tourists,  might  be  addressed  the  warning  which 
Peter  Plymley  thundered  against  Bonaparte,  in  reference 
to  the  Anti-Jacobin  jests  of  Canning  :  Tremble,  oh  thou 
land  of  many  spitters  and  voters,  "  for  a  pleasant  man 
has  come  out  against  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  laid  low  by 
a  joker  of  jokes,  and  he  shall  talk  liis  pleasant  talk  to 
thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  no  more  ! " 

In  order  that  America  may  take  its  due  rank  in  the 
commonwealth  of  nations,  a  literature  is  needed  which 
shall  be  the  exponent  of  its  higher  life.  We  live  in 
timen  of  turbulence  and  change.     There  is  a  general 


POETS    AND    rOETR\     OF    AMERICA.  79 

dissatisfaction,  manifesting  itself  often  in  rude  contests 
and  ruder  speech,  with  the  gulf  which  separates  princi- 
ples from  actions.  Men  are  struggling  to  realize  dim 
ideals  of  right  and  truth,  and  each  failure  adds  to  the 
desperate  earnestness  of  their  efTorts. '  Beneath  all  the 
shrewdness  and  selfishness  of  the  American  character, 
there  is  a  smouldering  enthusiasm  which  flames  out  at 
the  first  touch  of  fire,  —  sometimes  at  the  hot  and  hasty 
words  of  party,  and  sometimes  at  the  bidding  of  great 
thoughts  and  unselfish  principles.  The  heart  of  the 
nation  is  easily  stirred  to  its  depths  ;  but  those  who 
rouse  its  fiery  impulses  into  action  are  often  men  com- 
pounded of  ignorance  and  wickedness,  and  wholly  unfit 
to  guide  the  passions  which  they  are  able  to  excite. 
Xhere  is  no  country  in  the  world  which  has  nobler  ideas 
embodied  in  more  worthless  shapes.  All  our  factions, 
fanaticisms,  reforms,  parties,  creeds,  ridiculous  or  danger- 
ous though  they  often  appear,  are  founded  on  some 
aspiration  or  reality  which  deserves  a  better  form  and 
expression.  There  is  a  mighty  power  in  great  speech. 
If  the  sources  of  what  we  call  our  fooleries  and  faults 
were  rightly  addressed,  they  would  echo  more  majestic 
and  kindling  truths.  We  want  a  poetry  which  shall 
speak  in  clear,  loud  tones  to  the  people ;  a  poetry  which 
shall  make  us  more  in  love  with  our  native  land,  by  con- 
verting its  ennobling  scenery  into  the  images  of  lofty 
thought ;  which  shall  give  visible  form  and  life  to  the 
abstract  ideas  of  our  written  constitutions  :  which  shall 
confer  upon  virtue  all  the  strength  of  principle,  and  all 
the  energy  of  passion  ;  which  shall  disentangle  freedom 
from  cant  and  senseless  hyperbole,  and  render  it  a  thing 
of  such  loveliness  and  grandeur  as  to  justify  all  self- 
sacrifice  ;   which  shall  make  us  love  man  by  the  new 


80  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

consecrations  it  sheds  on  his  life  and  destiny ;  whicn 
shall  force  through  the  thin  partitions  of  conventionalism 
and  expediency  ;  vindicate  the  majesty  of  reason  ;  give 
new  power  to  the  voice  of  conscience,  and  new  vitality  to 
human  affection ;  soften  and  elevate  passion ;  guide 
enthusiasm  in  a  right  direction ;  and  speak  out  in  the 
high  language  of  men  to  a  nation  of  men. 


TALFOURD.' 

Among  the  many  gifted  minds  who  have  been  influ- 
enced by  the  spirit  which  Wordsworth  infused  into  the 
literature  of  the  present  age,  there  is  hardly  one  who 
approaches  nearer,  in  the  tone  and  character  of  his 
writings,  to  the  bard  of  Rydal  Mount,  than  Thomas 
Noon  Talfourd,  the  poet  and  essayist.  He  belongs  to 
that  class  of  autliors,  who  manifest  so  much  purity  and 
sweetness  of  disposition,  that  our  admiration  for  their 
talents  is  often  merged  in  our  love  for  their  qualities  of 
heart.  Criticism  shrinks  from  a  cold  analysis  of  their 
powers.  Wherever  they  find  a  reader,  they  find  a  friend. 
A  spirit  of  afTectionate  partisanship  mingles  with  most 
criticisms  on  their  writings.  All  who  have  partaken  of 
their  intellectual  companionship  have  a  deep  sympathy 
in  their  personal  welfare.  We  may  be  almost  said  to 
joy  in  their  joy,  and  grieve  in  their  grief.  If  they  be 
not  bound  to  us  by  the  ties  of  consanguinity,  they  are 
still  the  brethren  of  our  minds  and  hearts.  Oceans  can- 
not separate  them  from  our  love.  National  difTerencet 
cannot  alienate  them  from  our  afTections.  Wherever 
they  gq  they  have  the  "  freedom  of  the  city."  Words- 
worth, Lamb,  Dickens,  Talfourd,  Frederika  Bremer, 
allowing  for  their  intellectual  diversities,  and  the  difTer 

*  Critical  and  Miscellaneoua  Writings  of  T.  Noon  Talfourd,  Author  ^1 
"Ion."  Pliiladelpliia  :  Carey  &  Hart.  1842.  12nio.  pp.  354. — NorM 
American  Review,  October,  la  13. 

6 


62  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

ent  influences  which  have  modified  their  genius,  are  all 
authors  who  make  personal  friends  wherever  their  writ- 
ings penetrate. 

In  speaking  of  Talfourd  as  a  mental  pupil  of  Words- 
worth, we  do  not  mean  to  say  that  he  is  an  imitator  of 
his  master's  manner,  or  that  he  closely  copies  any  of  his 
prominent  beauties  or  defects ;  but  merely  that  the  tone 
and  aim  of  the  writings  of  the  two  are  similar.  In  the 
spirit  and  essence  of  his  genius,  and  not  in  its  outward 
form  and  expression,  is  he  a  Wordsworthian.  He,  in- 
deed, often  adopts  expressions  and  images  which  Words- 
worth, in  the  severe  simplicity  of  his  taste,  would  reject 
with  disdain.  His  style  is  richly  laden  with  ornament, 
and  almost  monotonously  musical  in  its  flow.  His 
thoughts  are  more  often  seen  in  the  imperial  robes  of 
rhetoric,  than  in  its  suit  of  "  homely  russet  brown."  The 
rich  flush  of  imagination  colors  his  whole  diction.  At 
times,  he  is  fastidiously  nice  in  his  choice  of  language, 
and  a  fondness  for  dainty  and  delicate  epithets  too  often 
gives  to  his  style  an  appearance  of  prettiness.  He  lux- 
uriates too  much  in  the  "  nectared  sweets  "  of  language 
and  imagery,  and  is  apt  to  impair  the  manliness  and 
vigor  of  his  diction  by  redundant  fancies  and  sugared 
words.  When  his  own  stores  of  sweetness  fail  him,  he 
avails  himself  of  those  belonging  to  others.  His  dic- 
tion is  studded  v/ith  apt  quotations,  teeming  with  rich- 
ness of  sentiment  and  style.  But  still  he  sliares  in  all 
the  essential  characteristics  of  the  school  of  Wordsworth, 
and  gives  evidence  on  every  page  of  that  "quiet  eye. 
which  sleeps  and  broods  on  his  own  heart."  The  rain 
gling  sj)irits  of  meditation  and  imagination  are  the  inspi 
ration  both  of  his  poetry  and  criticism.  His  manner  isj 
almost  always  quiet,  even  when  he  is  severe.     There  is 


TALFOURD. 


85 


nothing  in  his  general  style  to  interrupt  the  calm  and 
steady  flow  of  his  thoughts  and  feelings,  —  no  glare,  no 
rush,  no  epigrammatic  point,  no  "agony"  and  "  v\Teak- 
ing"  of  mind  upon  expression.  His  temper  is  kindly, 
and  averse  to  any  use  of  sarcasm  and  denunciation. 
There  is  evn  little  evidence  in  his  writings  of  that 
directness  and  dogmatism  which  sometimes  spring  from 
the  untrammelled  exercise  of  a  sharp,  clear  intellect,  see- 
ing objects  in  the  white  light  of  reason.  His  logic  is 
often  held  in  bondage  to  his  afTections  or  associations, 
and  accommodates  itself  to  the  wishes  of  his  heart.  He 
is  apt  to  consider  matters  of  reasoning  and  observation 
as  though  they  were  matters  of  taste.  As  a  logician,  he 
has  many  of  those  faults  which  poets  who  aspire  to  the 
honors  of  dialectics  experience  so  much  difficulty  in 
avoiding.  He  would  probably  be  a  more  pleasing  writer, 
if  his  fine  humanity  were  accompanied  with  greater 
strength  of  passion,  or  more  grasp  and  independence  of 
understanding. 

The  prose  essays,  the  title  of  w^hich  we  have  chosen 
as  a  caption  for  our  notice  of  Talfourd,  abound  in  beauty. 
Indeed,  the  author's  mind  seems  hardly  to  apprehend 
the  mean  and  the  deformed.  His  heart  and  imagination 
flow  out  in  his  compositions,  and  color  and  consecrate 
whatever  they  touch.  It  is  difficult  to  resist  their  plead- 
ing tones,  even  when  they  appear  as  advocates  for  criti- 
cal fallacies.  The  sophistry  of  their  warm  goodness  is 
more  pleasing  than  the  logic  of  passionless  reasoning. 
They  seem  to  have  been  nurtured  on  the  "  selectest 
influences  of  creation,"  and  to  have  been  preserved  from 
the  "  contagion  of  the  world's  slow  stain."  Love, 
beauty,  goodness,  sincerity,  pure  thoughts  and  fine 
sympathies,  all  in  human  character  which  is  sweet  and 


84  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

gentle,  seem  to  have  sprung  up  in  his  nature  as  from 
celestial  seed.  An  air  of  inexpressible  purity  is  spread 
over  his  compositions.  There  is  not  one  premeditated 
line,  in  his  prose  or  verse,  which  can  be  associated  with 
a  base  or  immora.  idea.  It  may  be  said  of  him  with 
truth,  that,  although  he  has  been  the  source  of  much 
pure  delight  to  thousands,  he  has  never  made  his  talents 
ministers  of  evil,  or  sought  popularity  by  'pampering 
depraved  tastes.  Throughout  his  works  we  ever  find 
beauty  linked  with  goodness. 

The  reprints  of  what  are  called  the  "  modern  period- 
cal  essayists,"  including  the  present  collection  of  the 
writings  of  Talfourd,  naturally  suggest  a  comparison 
between  the  periodical  literature  of  the  present  age  and 
that  which  existed  in  England  during  the  latter  half  of 
the  last  century.  No  publisher,  however  enterprising, 
would  hazard  a  republication  of  articles  extracted  from 
the  old  European  and  Gentleman's  Magazines,  and  the 
Monthly  Review.  Indeed,  until  the  establishment  of 
the  Edinburgh  Review,  in  1802,  there  were  few,  if  any, 
periodicals  worthy  of  comparison  with  the  critical  jour- 
nals of  the  present  day.  Before  that  period,  the  regular 
monthly  visiters  to  the  fireside  and  the  study  were  con- 
ducted by  men  of  inferior  abilities,  and  rarely  contained 
articles  worthy  of  preservation.  Dulness  answered  to 
dulness,  and  weakness  worshipped  wit.  On  the  publi- 
cation of  any  work  by  an  author  of  reputation,  the 
reviewer  tamely  and  timidly  followed  the  footprints  of 
his  opinioas  and  investigations,  and  rarely  attempted 
more  than  a  meek  digest  of  both.  No  task  can  be  more 
severe  than  to  travel  through  the  sterile  tracts  of  period 
ical  literature  during  the  period  we  have  indicated.  The 
very  appearance  of  sn   old   magazine   is  suggestive  0/ 


TALFOURD. 


85 


insipidity  and  du  noss.  We  can  pick  up  little  in  it  but 
the  dry  chips  and  shavings  of  thought  and  knowledge. 
Letters  from  country  gentlemen  about  some  subject  in 
which  none  but  country  gentlemen  can  be  supposed  to 
take  any  interest, —  communications  from  small  antiqua- 
rians, on  small  antiquities* — a  large  number  of  metrical 
pieces  which  no  country  editor  would  now  dare  to  pub- 
lish in  his  poetical  corner,  —  the  ambitious  struggle  of 
the  meanest  mediocrity  to  look  like  moderate  talent,  — 
the  coquetry  of  Mr.  Robert  Merry,  the  divine  poet,  with 
Miss  Anna  Matilda,  the  sad  poetess,  both  hailing  from 
Delia  Crusca,  —  an  infinite  number  of  little  epistles  on 
little  subjects,  devoid  alike  of  forcible  thought  and  vigor- 
ous expression,  —  everything,  in  short,  but  things  of 
interest  and  excellence,  composed  the  material  of  most 
periodicals  during  the  last  fifty  years  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  The  reviews,  conducted  for  a  short  period  by 
Gilbert  Stuart  and  Dr.  Smollett,  were,  by  virtue  of  their 
rancor  and  malice,  an  exception  to  the  stupidity  of  the 
mass.  But  flatness,  insipidity,  an  absence  of  valuable 
information  and  mental  vigor,  a  cringing  and  creeping 
deference  to  established  codes  of  criticism,  and  a  sicken- 
ing weakness  of  expression,  characterized  most  monthly 
journals  during  that  period,  when  their  contributors 
peopled  the  mansion-houses  of  fat-witted  country  squires, 
and  the  attics  and  cellars  of  Grub-street.  How  that  un- 
fortunate portion  of  our  fellow-creatures  known  by  the 
name  of  the  "reading  public  "  could  not  only  purchase, 
but  read,  these  stupid  apologies  for  literature,  is  a 
mystery  more  puzzling  than  the  debated  authorship  of 
Junius.  It  is  impossible  to  discern  the  exact  point  in 
the  descent  of  literature,  when  its  productions  will  cease 
to  command  the  money,  and  excite  the  attention,  of  the 


86  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

simple  and  the  well  meaning.  People  in  all  times  have 
their  own  peculiar  methods  of  obtaining  misery  at  a 
cheap  rate.  We  buy  ninepenny  reprints  of  fashionable 
novels. 

But  the  Edinburgh  Review  disturbed  the  smoothly 
stagnant  waters  of  monthly  and  quarterly  dulness.  The 
tone  of  its  early  numbers  was  such  as  to  make  all  disci- 
ples of  stupidity,  and  all  professors  of  bathos,  fear  and 
tremble.  It  was  radical,  revolutionary,  almost  piratical, 
m  its  warfare  against  existing  abuses.  It  had  the  hardi- 
hood to  consider  folly,  affectation,  and  undue  pretensions, 
as  crimes  deserving  of  severe  punishment.  Its  principal 
writers  were  men  of  clear  intellect,  with  a  fine  perception 
of  the  ludicrous,  a  large  command  of  the  language  of 
persiflage,  and  a  singular  union  of  the  sharp,  fleering 
tone  of  literary  coxcombs,  with  the  accomplishments  of 
scholars  and  men  of  taste.  They  were  distinguished  for 
subtlety,  rather  than  amplitude  of  comprehension  ;  and 
were  better  fitted  to  discern  with  delicate  tact  the  faults 
and  absurdities  of  hacks  and  pedants,  than  to  detect, 
appreciate,  and  foster  the  writings  of  great,  but  undisci- 
plined, genius.  They  battled  as  fiercely  against  Words- 
worth, Coleridge,  Southey,  Lamb,  and  Montgomery,  a» 
they  did  against  the  poor  poetasters  and  literary  fops  and 
hirelings,  whose  names  it  would  be  almost  a  disgrace  to 
remember.  The  success  of  their  first  efforts  against 
book-makers,  and  the  favor  with  which  their  lively  and 
malicious  pleasantry  was  received  by  the  public,  appear 
to  have  impressed  them  with  a  magnified  idea  of  theii 
own  importance  and  powers.  They  constituted  them- 
selves, with  a  quiet  assurance  almost  unparalleled  in 
literary  history,  the  judges  of  the  whole  realm  of  letters; 
stated  and  abandoned   their  own  laws  of  criticism  at 


TALFOURD. 


87 


pleasure  ;  considered  the  publication  of  a  book  as  prhnri 
facie  evidence  of  crime,  of  which  only  great  merit  could 
be  received  in  apology ;  summoned  every  writer  to  their 
tribunal,  and  dealt  out  to  him  eulogy  or  blame,  as  their 
tastes,  whims,  wit,  or  politics,  might  prompt;  were  often 
intolerant  and  harsh  in  their  judgments,  where  the  vic- 
tim could  bring  strong  recommendations  to  mercy  ;  and, 
by  the  mingled  force  of  talent  and  assurance,  they  con- 
trived for  a  series  of  yea^rs,  and  in  a  time  affluent  in 
great  names,  to  exercise  a  predominant  influence  upon 
public  opinion,  and  to  give  the  tone  to  public  taste. 
Grub-street  fought  desperately  at  first,  to  regain  its  old 
dominion  ;  but  it  soon  fell,  "  pierced  through  and  through 
with  cunninff  w'ords,"  and  was  buried  beneath  the  weight 
of  its  own  explanatory,  defamatory,  and  lugubrious  pam- 
phlets,—  forty  of  which,  exched  by  articles  in  the  Edin- 
burgh, and  accusing  it  of  all  modes  and  shows  of  literary 
injustice,  dropped  drearily  from  the  press  in  one  year. 

The  success  which  attended  the  great  Quarterly  gave 
a  strong  impulse  to  periodical  literature.  Magazines  and 
reviews  multiplied  rapidly.  Almost  all  the  talent  of 
Great  Britain  found  its  way  occasionally  into  their  pages. 
Each  of  the  great  political  and  religious  parties  had  its 
code  of  criticism,  its  rank  and  file  of  periodical  essayists, 
its  representatives  of  party  principles  and  party  literature. 
Each  journal  attempted  to  surpass  its  contemporaries  in 
vigor,  brilliancy  and  point.  A  certain  fierceness  of  tone 
was  infused  into  criticism.  No  writer,  however  high 
his  genius,  or  noble  his  motives,  could  publish  a  book, 
wMthout  suffering  insult  and  injustice  from  some  one  of 
these  flashing  and  bitter  exponents  of  cliques  and  parties. 
We  have  intimated  our  high  opinion  of  the  value  of 
the  essays  and  disquisitions  with  which  British  period}- 


88  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

cal  literature  is  now  so  amply  filled.  An  eminent  pub- 
lishing house  in  Philadelphia  has  very  wisely  undertaken 
to  reprint  these,  and  to  give  them  a  general  circulation 
in  the  United  States.  To  this  enterprise  we  owe  the 
collection  of  Talfourd's  prose  writings,  —  gems  which 
were  originally  set  in  the  Retrospective  Review  and 
New  Monthly  Magazine,  but  which  did  not  attract,  in 
that  form,  perhaps  from  the  very  fineness  of  their  work- 
manship, the  attention  they  deserved.  They  bear  in 
almost  every  sentence  marks  of  care  and  labor,  and  are 
distinguished  from  the  compositions  of  contemporary 
essayists,  not  only  by  peculiarities  of  temperament  and 
opinion,  but  by  the  sedate  beauty  and  calmness  of  their 
tone.  We  can  perceive  in  them  none  of  that  deliberate 
fury,  that  spasmodic  and  convTilsed  energy,  that  inces- 
sant struggle  after  brilliancy,  which  characterize  the 
style  of  most  writers  for  the  English  magazines.  They 
do,  not  appear  to  be  the  productions  of  haste,  prejudice, 
or  whim,  but  seem  to  have  been  carefully  meditated  in 
those  hours  of  the  author's  life  which  were  peculiarly 
favorable  to  chasteness  of  thought  and  felicity  of  compo- 
sition. Nothing  appears  in  them  calculated  to  suggest 
the  hired  hack,  torturing  his  mind  into  something  like 
vigor,  inspired  by  a  distant  view  of  eight  guineas  a  sheet. 
His  critical  writings  manifest  on  every  page  a  sincere 
sympathy  with  intellectual  excellence  and  moral  beauty. 
The  kindliness  of  temper,  and  tenderness  of  sentiment, 
by  which  they  are  animated,  are  continually  suggesting 
pleasant  thoughts  of  the  author.  He  festoons  the  scalpel 
of  the  critic  with  roses.  Hatred,  scorn,  and  dogmatism, 
rarely  vex  the  unruffled  stream  of  his  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions. A  fine  humanity  pervades  and  harmonizes  hi 
mind.     But  his  swcptnftis  of  disposition  in  many  casea 


TALFOUBD.  89 

disturbs  the  clear  action  of  his  intellect.  The  critic,  of 
all  persons,  should  have  a  keen  eye.  His  province  is  to 
Bee,  more,  perhaps,  than  it  is  to  feel.  If  the  clearness 
of  his  vision  is  dimmed  by  discipleship  or  enmity,  or  if 
the  object  that  he  examines  be  discolored  by  the  hues  of 
his  own  mind,  he  gives  us  a  fancy  picture,  not  a  portrait, 
he  adds  or  takes  away  from  the  original  until  its  real 
features  are  lost.  In  Talfourd's  critiques,  we  discover 
much  which  can  hardly  be  called  critical.  The  judge  is 
too  apt  to  lose  himself  in  the  advocate  or  disciple.  To 
use  his  own  words,  in  speaking  of  Hazlitt,  he  sometimes 
confounds  the  processes  of  argument  with  those  of  feel- 
ing. He  is  more  often  at  the  feet  of  Gamaliel  than  in 
the  judgment-seat.  He  bends  his  knee  in  reverent  hom- 
age to  the  great  and  the  good.  The  splendid  notices  of 
Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  Lamb,  and  Mackenzie,  are  rap- 
turous hymns  in  praise  of  those  authors,  rather  than 
close,  analytical  judgments  of  their  merits.  Talfourd 
has  none  of  that  dogmatism  of  feeling  which  impels 
Macaulay  to  exalt  himself  above  his  subject,  and  re- 
morselessly analyze  and  dissect  even  his  favorite  authors  ; 
neither  does  he,  like  the  same  critic,  take  some  writers 
captives  of  his  criticism,  and  exhibit  their  scalps  in  proof 
of  his  prowess.  All  warfare  against  poets  or  prose 
writers,  whether  conducted  on  Indian  or  civilized  princi- 
ples, he  steadily  eschews.  He  becomes  sternly  critical 
only  when  he  applies  the  principles  educed  from  the 
works  of  his  favorite  authors  to  writings  which  are 
formed  on  a  different  system,  or  which  spring  from  a 
different  moral  or  mental  source;  and  then  he  is  fre- 
quently partial  and  one-sided  in  his  view.  He  describes 
the  genius  of  a  poet,  not  as  it  is  in  reality,  but  as  it  has 
affected  his  own  imagination  and  sympathies;  and  he 


90  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

consequently  pours  out  in  the  praise  of  a  cherished 
author  the  whole  wealth  of  suggestive  thought  which 
belongs  to  his  own  mind.  He  thus  gives  the  object  of 
his  eulogy  credit  for  all  the  ideas  and  imaginations  which 
he  has  awakened,  as  well  as  for  all  which  he  has  directly 
imparted.  By  this  method,  we  have  an  abstract  and 
expression  of  two  minds,  not  of  one,  —  as  in  the  Dia- 
logues reported  by  Plato,  where  the  disciple  adds  to  the 
teachings  of  the  master,  without  claiming  his  share  of 
the  joint  product. 

The  prominent  characteristic  of  Talfourd's  critical  sys- 
tem is  his  view  of  the  nature  and  sphere  of  imagination, 
stated  with  considerable  definiteness  in  his  articles  on 
Maturin,  Wordsworth,  and  Hazlitt,  and  influencing  his 
judgment  in  others.  This  theory  essentially  modifies 
his  opinion  of  books  and  men,  and,  though  beautiful  in 
itself,  appears  to  lie  open  to  weighty  objections.  It  is  a 
curious  fact,  and  one  which  well  illustrates  the  influence 
of  the  spirit  of  discipleship,  that  Talfourd  narrows  the 
domain  of  imagination  within  the  sphere  of  Wordsworth's 
genius.  His  definition  of  the  faculty  is  as  follows. -- 
"  In  our  sense,  it  is  that  power  by  which  the  spiritualities 
of  our  nature,  and  the  sensible  images  derived  from  the 
material  universe,  are  commingled  at  the  will  of  the 
possessor.  It  has  thus  a  two-fold  operation,  —  the  body- 
ing forth  of  feelings,  sentiments,  and  ideas,  in  beautiful 
and  majestic  forms,  and  giving  to  them  local  habita 
tions ;  and  the  informing  the  colors  and  shapes  of  mattei 
with  the  properties  of  the  soul." 

This  definition  we  conceive  to  be  narrow.  It  does  not 
cover  the  whole  extent  of  the  power.  It  restricts  the 
operation  of  the  faculty  to  the  capacity  of  discerning, 
suggesting,  and   commingling   analogies.      Is   this   the 


TALFOURD.  91 

whole  of  its  province  ?  ■  Are  not  the  creation  of  individ- 
ual characters,  and  the  invention  of  incident,  among  its 
legitimate  efTorts  ?  The  conception  and  croaticfl  of  the 
characters  of  Lear  and  Macbeth  seem  to  us  as  noble 
efforts  of  the  imagination,  as  the  commingling  of  the 
spiritualities  of  their  natures  with  the  sensible  images 
derived  from  the  material  universe.  To  apply  the  argu- 
vientum  ad  hominem,  we  might  ask,  is  not  the  creation 
of  the  character  of  Ion,  out  of  the  finest  elements  of  hu- 
manity, as  grand  and  beautiful  an  operation  of  the  "  fac- 
ulty divine  "  as  any  of  the  images  in  which  his  thoughts 
and  sentiments  take  shape  and  hue  ?  But  Wordsworth 
is  deficient  in  the  power  of  creating  character  and  inci- 
dents. His  genius  is  intensely  subjective  and  egotistical. 
He  pours  his  personal  feelings  into  everything  he  writes. 
He  makes  nature  and  man  speak  in  his  peculiar  dialect. 
A  theory  must,  therefore,  be  invented,  by  which  the 
poetic  power  of  Wordsworth  shall  be  made  the  measure 
of  the  poetic  power  itself;  and  this  Talfourd  has  done, 
with  a  seeming  unconsciousness  of  sophistry  which  it  is 
beautiful  to  see. 

There  is  still  another  objection  to  be  made  to  Tal- 
fourd's  critical  canons.  Connected  with  his  theorj^  of 
the  scope  of  the  imagination,  he  has  another,  relating  to 
its  operation  as  the  reconciling  and  harmonizing  principle 
of  the  mind.  He  also  gives  to  its  analogies  more  author- 
ity than  belongs  to  the  deductions  of  the  understanding. 
In  his  system,  imagination  sees  truth  in  clear  vision. 
Like  figures,  it  cannot  lie.  All  the  other  mental  facul- 
ties are  liable  to  delude  us ;  but  this  divine  power,  if  it 
exist  at  all,  must  ever  picture  forth  what  is  real  and  true. 
It  discerns  the  eternal  substance,  not  the  "  shows  and 
shams,"  of  things.     "A  mirrcr  can  no  more  reflect  an 


92  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

object  which  is  not  before  it,  than  the  imagination  can 
show  the  false  and  the  baseless."  Our  author,  indeed, 
gives  it  all  the  intuitive  power  which  Cousin  confers  on 
the  "  spontaneous  reason."  We  are  gravely  told,  that 
the  faculty  is  never  irregular,  confused,  dim,  or  unreal, 
in  any  of  its  manifestations ;  that  gaudiness  of  diction, 
excess  of  metaphor,  turbulence,  and  a  number  of  other 
qualities,  w^hich  many  good  people  conceive  to  spring 
from  the  predominance  of  the  poetic  faculty,  do  not  arise 
from  an  ill-regulated  imagination,  for  such  a  term  is 
altogether  inapplicable  to  the  power,  but  rather  from  ex- 
cessive sensibility  and  verbal  fluency.  He  is  certainly 
correct  in  distinguishing  false  from  true  imagination,  and 
vindicating  the  faculty  from  many  of  the  tasteless  enor- 
mities which  have  passed  for  its  creations  ;  but  in  his 
zeal  he  forgets  facts,  and  abandons  logic.  From  his 
statement,  it  would  seem  that  no  one  can  imagine  what 
does  not  exist;  that  we  are  never  fooled  by  fantasy ;  and 
that  Hamlet  grossly  libelled  the  power,  when  he  hinted 
the  possibility  that  his  imaginations  might  be  as  foul  as 
Vulcan's  stithy.  Besides,  our  author,  in  his  other  essays, 
is  not  altogether  faithful  to  his  own  principles.  We  can 
occasionally  detect  expressions  and  illustrations  which 
are  logically  inconsistent  with  his  cherished  notion.  His 
admiration,  at  times,  will  burst  out,  in  spite  of  his  theory, 
in  praise  of  imagination  when  it  is  distempered,  or  shad- 
ows forth  unreal  mockeries. 

The  notion  that  the  imagination  acts  as  the  harmon- 
izing principle  of  the  mind,  we  conceive  to  be  fallacious. 
The  general  suffrage  would  be  in  fnvor  of  a  directly 
opposite  opinion.  Besides,  it  does  not  follow  from  Tal- 
fourd's  definition  of  the  faculty,  and  it  is  likewise  contra- 
dicted  by  facts.      It   is   merely  an   assumption.      The 


TALFOURD.  93 

method  of  reasoning  which  the  author  followsd  in  arriv 
ing  at  this  singular  conclusion  was  probably  something 
like  this:  —  Wordsworth  must  be  placed  above  all  the 
other  poets  of  the  age.  The  mind  of  Wordsworth,  as 
developed  in  his  writings,  is  harmonious.  It  Barely 
seems  stung  and  stirred  into  action  by  passion  and  im- 
pulse ;  it  is  cool  and  philosophic.  Therefore  the  imagi- 
nation, which  above  all  others  is  the  faculty  of  the  poet, 
must  act  as  the  reconciling  principle  of  the  soul,  and  be 
the  source  of  its  harmony. 

We  cannot  see  any  necessary  connection  at  all  between 
the  power  of  commingling  at  will  the  "  spiritualities  of 
our  nature  "  with  sensible  images,  and  a  harmonized 
state  of  the  whole  inward  nature.  Among  Wordsworth's 
contemporaries,  Shelley  and  Byron  are  examples  at  once 
of  great  imaginations  and  unsettled  minds.  They  pos- 
sessed, in  a  high  dfgree,  the  power  of  "informing  the 
colors  and  shapes  of  matter  with  the  properties  of  the 
soul,"  and  "of  bodying  forth  ideas,  feelings,  and  senti- 
ments, in  beautiful  and  majestic  forms; "and  whether 
these  ideas,  feelings,  and  sentiments,  were  pernicious  or 
good,  false  or  true,  the  forms  in  which  they  were  embod- 
ied were  still  beautiful  and  majestic. 

"  For  they  knew 
How  to  make  madness  be.iutiful ;  and  threw 
O'er  erring  thoughts  and  deeds  a  heavenly  hue 
Of  words,  like  sunlieams,  dazzling,  as  they  past, 
The  eyes  which  o'er  them  shed  tears  feelingly  and  fast." 

The  "  heavenly  hue "  of  all  language  comes  from 
imagination,  and  cannot  be  caught  from  the  lexicon ; 
and  the  fact  that  this  has  been  thrown  over  madness, 
error,  lust,  and  intemperance,  is  too  notorious  to  admit 
of  doubt.    From  a  single  page  of  Shelley's  writings  there 


d4  KSSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

can  be  selected  as  many  examples  of  the  true  power  of 
imagination,  as  defined  by  Talfourd,  as  animate,  we  had 
almost  said,  a  whole  book  of  "  The  Excursion ;  "  and  it 
is  equally  true,  that  the  images  themselves  are  as  likely 
to  b&  the  embodiment  of  restlessness,  discontent,  pan- 
theistic abstractions,  and  other  "  spiritualities "  of  our 
nature,  as  ideas,  feelings,  and  sentiments  springing  from 
a  harmonized  heart  and  brain.  Indeed,  the  illustrations 
from  Shakspeare,  which,  in  the  essay  on  Wordsworth, 
Talfourd  adduces  as  instances  of  the  highest  exercise  of 
the  faculty,  are  nothing  more  than  the  throes  of  the 
imagination  in  a  mind  either  turbulently  confused,  or  fix- 
edly and  sullenly  misanthropic,  —  as  with  Lear  in  his 
ecstasies  of  passion,  or  Timon  in  his  intensest  hatred  of 
his  kind.  And  it  is  a  curious  fact,  that,  in  the  composi- 
tion of  these  dramas,  Shakspeare  himself  was  expressing, 
to  some  extent,  the  gloom  of  his  own  great  soul,  when  it 
was  in  a  condition  altogether  inharmonious  and  un- 
Wordsworthiari.  Hallam  A^ery  acutely  remarks,  "There 
seems  to  have  been  a  period  of  Shakspeare's  life  when 
his  heart  was  ill  at  ease  and  ill-content  with  the  world 
or  his  own  conscience  ;  the  memory  of  hours  misspent,  the 
pang  of  affection  misplaced  or  unrequited,  the  experience 
of  man's  worser  nature,  which  intercourse  with  ill-chosen 
associates,  by  choice  or  circumstances,  peculiarly  teaches; 
these,  as  they  sunk  down  into  the  depths  of  his  great 
mind,  seem  not  only  to  have  inspired  into  it  the  concep- 
tion of  Lear  and  Timon,  but  that  of  one  primary  charac- 
ter, the  censurer  of  mankind."  He  then  proves  that  the 
plays  in  which  this  misanthropical  spirit  is  manifested, 
•'  As  You  Like  It,"  "  Hamlet,"  "  Measure  for  Measure," 
"  Timon,"  and  "  Lear,"  all  belong  to  one  period,  — 
between  1600  and  1604.     After  this  time,  "  Shakspeare 


TALFOURD.  95 

never  icturned  to  this  type  of  character  in  the  per- 
sonages." 

It  can  hardly  be  denied  that  Wordsworth  possesses 
the  power  of  imagination  in  a  high  degree;  but  it  can  be 
denied  that  the  seeming  harmonious  action  of  his  mind 
results  from  his  possession  of  it.  Talfourd,  in  another 
connection,  has  a  sentence,  which,  to  us,  seems  to 
e.xplain  the  whole  matter.  Speaking  of  Mackenzie's 
sentimental  style,  he  observes :  "  Its  consecrations  are 
altogether  drawn  from  the  soul.  The  gentle  tinges 
which  it  casts  on  human  life  are  shed,  not  from  the 
imagination  or  fancy,  but  from  the  affections."  This  is 
true  of  much  that  is  poetical  in  Wordsworth.  His  mind, 
by  original  constitution  and  the  circumstances  attending 
its  culture,  —  from  the  predominance  of  the  gentler  affec- 
tions over  the  passions,  and  of  the  musing  and  medita- 
tive over  the  impulsive  portion  of  his  nature,  —  is  less 
unrestful  and  stormy  than  the  minds  of  the  large  major- 
ity of  great  poets.  But  whether  it  be  more  richly  gifted 
with  a  shaping  imagination,  is  altogether  a  different 
question,  with  which  the  rounded  harmony  of  his  powers 
and  affections  has  little  to  do.  Indeed,  to  give  imagina- 
tion the  office  not  only  of  expressing  thought  and  feeling 
in  pictures  and  characters,  but  of  exercising  likewise  all 
those  functions  which  belong  to  volition,  conscience,  the 
affections,  and  the  religious  sentiment,  is  to  violate  all 
metaphysical  propriety. 

To  assert  that  the  imagination  can  never  reflect  the 
unreal,  or  be  the  spring  of  any  "  irregularities  of  genius," 
—  can  never  throw  a  deceptive  hue  over  outward  objects., 
and  lead  the  mind  astray,  —  can  never  pander  to  lust 
and  "link  vice  to  a  radiant  angel,"  —  is  to  give  the  lie 
direct  to  the  "  Lives  of  the  Poets."     The  /magination 


96  ESSAYS    AND    REVIE'WS, 

can,  it  is  true,  embody  truth  and  goodness  in  the  shapes 
and  hues  of  grandeur  and  beauty ;  but  it  can  do,  and  it 
has  done,  the  same  to  .licentiousness,  scepticism,  and 
misanthropy.  This  is  generally  called  imagination  per- 
verted ;  but  in  Talfourd's  system,  the  faculty  is  essen- 
tially incapable  of  perversion.  If  the  poetic  faculty  had 
always  been  employed  in  the  service  of  truth  and  good- 
ness, —  if,  by  its  very  nature,  it  were  pure,  and  beyond 
the  touch  and  stain  of  bad  passions,  —  if  all  its  creations 
were  unsullied  by  sin,  —  the  objections  which  many 
good  and  respectable,  but  somewhat  narrow-minded, 
people  entertain  for  what  are  called  works  of  the  imagi- 
nation, would  be  the  most  senseless  prejudices  ever  held 
by  human  beings. 

We  have  considered  Talfourd's  views  on  this  subject 
at  some  length,  because  they  materially  influence  the 
character  of  his  criticisms,  especially  upon  the  impulsive 
poets  of  the  school  of  Byron  and  Shelley.  He  is  not,  it 
must  be  confessed,  always  consistent  in  the  application 
of  his  principles ;  but  they  are  still  obstinately  obtruded 
upon  the  reader's  attention,  and  arouse  at  last  that  ner- 
vous opposition,  which  a  smooth  and  pleasant  sophism, 
picinked  out  in  the  purple  and  fine  linen  of  language, 
would  at  first  fail  to  excite.  We  also  object  to  his  theory 
on  another  ground.  It  is  the  parent  of  much  cant,  which 
is  growing  into  fashion  among  many  of  our  own  writers, 
about  the  inherent  religion  of  poetry.  Every  young 
bard  who  stains  foolscap  with  octo-syllabic  or  seven- 
syllabled  verse,  squeaking  with  "  utterances  "  and  "morn- 
ing glories,"  is  in  danger  of  conceiving  himself,  by  virtue 
of  his  imagination,  "  a  sinless  child ;  "  and  in  men  of  a 
higher  order  of  mind,  it  is  working  a  graver  evil,  by 
inducing  them  to  exalt  poetry  above  the  Bible,  —  to  deny 


TALFOUUD. 


97 


altogether  the  inspiration  of  the  New  Testament,  even  in 
its  sublime  promises,  and  to  believe  altogether  in  the 
inspiration  of  Shakspcare,  even  in  his  puns  and  indecen- 


cies. 


As  far  as  our  author's  criticisms  are  influenced  by  his 
championship  of  Wordsworth,  they  are  at  least  able  and 
eloquent.  His  opinions  appear  formed  from  a  long- 
continued  brooding  over  the  works  on  which  he  dilates. 
The  essay  on  the  writings  of  Wordsworth  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  tributes  of  admiring  gratitude  ever  paid 
to  genius;  and,  although  excessive  in  the  strain  of  its 
eulogy,  and  containing  some  questionable  principles  of 
taste,  cannot  be  read  without  delight,  even  by  poetical 
sectarians.  The  finest  passage  is  that  in  which  he 
vindicates  his  master  from  the  charge  of  displaying 
bad  taste,  both  in  the  choice  of  his  themes  and  in  his 
rejection  of  the  usual  blandishments  of  diction. 

"But  most  of  the  subjects  of  Mr.  Wordsworth,  though  not 
arrayed  in  any  adventitious  pomp,  have  a  real  and  innate  grand- 
eur. Tru^  U  is,  that  he  moves  not  among  the  regalities,  but 
among  the  humanities,  of  his  art.  True  it  is,  that  his  poetry 
does  not  '  make  its  bed  and  procreant  cradle '  in  the  jutting 
fri'  ze,  cornice,  or  architrave  of  the  glorious  edifices  of  human 
power.  The  universe  in  its  naked  majesty,  and  man  in  the 
plain  dignity  of  his  nature,  are  his  favorite  themes.  And  is 
there  no  might,  no  glory,  no  sanctity,  in  these  ?  Earth  has  her 
own  venerablenesses,  —  her  awful  forests,  which  have  darkened 
her  hills  for  ages  with  tremendous  gloom ;  her  mysterious 
springs,  pouring  out  everlasting  waters  from  unsearchable 
recesses ;  her  wrecks  of  elemental  contests  ;  her  jagged  rocks, 
jnonumental  of  an  earlier  world.  The  lowliest  of  her  beauties 
1  as  an  antiquity  beyond  that  of  the  pyramids.  The  evening 
breeze  has  the  old  sweetness  which  it  shed  over  the  fields  of 
Canaan,  when  Isaac  went  out  to  meditate.  The  Nile  swells 
with  its  rich  waters  towards  the  bulrushes  of  Egypt,  as  whe» 
7 


98  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

the  infant  Moses  nestled  among  them,  watched  by  the  sisterly 
iove  of  Miriam.  Zion's  hill  has  not  passed  away  with  its  tem- 
ple, nor  lost  its  sanctity  amidst  the  tumultuous  changes  around 
it,  nor  even  by  the  accomplishment  of  that  awful  religion  of 
types  and  symbols,  which  once  was  enthroned  on  its  steeps. 
The  sun  to  which  the  poet  turns  his  eye  is  the  same  which 
shone  ovei  Thermopylae;  and  the  wind  to  which  he  listens 
swept  over  Salamis,  and  scattered  the  armaments  of  Xerxes  " 
—  p.  129. 

The  essay  on  the  genius  of  Scott  is  discriminating  and 
well  written.  Indeed,  there  is  hardly  one  among  the 
twenty-three  essays  and  reviews  which  form  the  Phila- 
delphia collection  of  Talfourd's  writings,  which  will  not 
repay  a  careful  perusal.  If  they  do  not  belong  to  the 
stimulative  class  of  compositions,  neither  can  they  be 
ranked  among  the  narcotics.  Perhaps  the  term  "  seda- 
tive "  would  describe  them  best.  The  richness  of  the 
author's  mind  and  heart  is  lavished  upon  all.  A  fine 
detecting  sense  of  moral  and  intellectual  beauty,  —  a 
sensibility  both  quick  and  deep,  —  an  imagination  afflu- 
ent in  images  of  grace  and  loveliness,  —  a  perfect  com- 
mand of  ornate  and  picturesque  language,  —  are  mani- 
fested in  his  treatment  of  every  subject;  and  his  occa- 
sional fallacies  seem  to  spring  from  a  desire  to  vindicate 
those  mental  qualities  intended  for  the  service  of  good- 
ness and  virtue  from  the  obloquy  of  having  ever  thrown 
a  false  glare  around  error  and  crime.  In  his  notices  of 
those  poets  who  hav  ;  met  his  moral  wants  and  natural 
sympathies  ;  who  have  been  for  years  the  cherished  com- 
panions of  his  heart,  and  given  voice  and  shape  to  his 
affections  and  feelings ;  who  have  surrounded  his  path 
with  forms  of  beauty  and  grace,  and  nursed  all  the  ten- 
dencies of  his  nature  to  pensive  musing  with  gentle  and 


TALFOURD.  99 

itoly  thoughts  and  emotions ;  who  have  become,  in  short, 
part  and  parcel  of  himself,  and  melted  into  his  own 
being,  —  Talfourd  is  almost  always  a  worshipper  rather 
than  a  critic,  but  a  worshipper  equalling  in  eloquence  the 
idol  to  which  he  bends.  His  description  of  a  writer's 
power  is  so  warm  and  kindling,  and  he  claims  for  him 
such  high  qualities,  that  we  are  apt  to  meet  with  disap- 
pointment when  we  turn  to  the  object  of  his  eulogy,  to 
verify  the  panegyric  ;  and  we  often  feel  a  sense  of  shame 
come  over  us,  that  ideas  and  images  which  can  awaken 
in  his  nature  such  vivid  perceptions  of  loveliness,  power, 
ind  grandeur,  should  often  fall  into  our  own 

"  Like  snow-flakes  on  a  river, 
One  moment  white,  then  gone  forever." 

Talfourd's  sympathy  sharpens  his  intellectual  acute- 
ness.  The  most  recondite  gleam  of  beauty  in  thought, 
or  felicity  in  expression,  he  detects  with  a  delicacy  and 
discrimination  which  none  but  a  poet  could  employ. 
His  mind  darts,  with  the  speed  of  instinct,  to  the  appre- 
hension of  the  most  subtle  idea  or  allusion  which  reaches 
his  imagination  through  his  heart.  He  is  almost  an 
epicurean  in  his  appreciation  of  some  classes  of  poetry. 
He  absolutely  feeds  on  tenderness  of  sentiment  and  in- 
tellectual beauty.  To  all  writers  of  the  tempestuous 
school,  who  come  to  him  with  heart-shattering  miseries, 
riotous  and  noisy  in  turgid  epithets,  and  demanding  the 
sympathy  and  commiseration  of  the  whole  universe,  he 
seems  to  exclaim,  "  Disturb  not  my  peace  with  your  wail- 
ings ;  my  balm  can  assuage  none  of  your  pains ;  you 
have  no  imagination,  but  only  a  tyrannous  sensibility, 
ftnd  a  fatal  fluency  of  language ;  "  but  to  those  who 
come  to  him  with  more  harmony  of  tongue  and  motion, 


100  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

who  are  at  once  "  meek  and  bold,"  and  who  make  no 
unnecessary  parade  of  metaphor  and  sinfulness,  he 
adopts  a  different  strain  of  remark,  and  gives  them  a 
home  in  the  inmost  sanctuaries  of  his  heart. 

The  work  on  which  Talfourd  has  expended  the  full 
wealth  of  his  genius  is  the  tragedy  of  "  Ion."  Schlegel 
says,  in  his  observations  on  Lear,  "  Of  the  heavenly 
beauty  of  Cordelia,  I  do  not  dare  to  speak."  A  moral 
fear  of  a  similar  nature  should  come  over  the  heart  of 
every  critic  who  attempts  to  "break  into  parts  for 
separate  contemplation"  this  exquisite  creation  of  our 
author's  mind.  A  person  who  reads  it  in  an  earnest, 
sympathizing  spirit,  and  allows  the  full  stream  of  its 
harmony  to  flow  at  once  into  his  heart,  conscience,  and 
imagination,  is  in  little  danger  of  exaggerating  its  excel- 
lence by  hyperbolical  panegyric.  The  fine  humanity 
which  breathes  through  it  touches  the  finest  chords  of 
the  moral  nature.  Its  ideal  of  greatness  and  virtue  is 
the  same  which  Christ  taught  and  realized.  It  teaches 
that  gentleness  is  power,  and  self-sacrifice  the  noblest 
ambition.  The  flow  of  the  verse,  the  exquisite  nicety 
of  the  language,  the  picturesque  beauty  of  the  imagery, 
the  holiness  and  elevation  of  the  thoughts,  the  delicious 
purity  and  sweetness  of  the  tone  of  the  composition,  and 
the  rare  spiritual  hannony  with  which  it  is  pervaded, 
entitle  it  to  a  very  high  rank  among  the  great  poema 
which  no  age  will  willingly  let  die.  The  character  of 
Ion  is  the  embodiment  of  moral  beauty.  It  could  have 
risen  from  the  depths  of  no  soul  but  one  of  singular 
purity  and  loveliness.  It  is  one  of  those  "  things  of 
beauty"  which  become  "a  joy  forever."  It  "floats  like 
a  lily  on  the  river  of  our  thoughts."  Any  objections  to 
the  wort   which  criticism  may  raise   cannot  break  one 


TALFOURD.  101 

ink  in  that  golden  chain  by  which  it  is  bound  to  our 
deepest  sympathies  and  highest  imaginations. 

Talfourd  is  the  author  of  two  other  tragedies,  which 
Kave  less  merit  and  celebrity  than  "  Ion  "  —  "  The  Athe- 
nian Captive,"  and  "Glencoe."  Both  are  well  written, 
and  if  produced  by  any  other  man  than  the  author  of 
"  Ion,"  would  be  justly  esteemed  as  evincing  considerable 
dramatic  power,  force  of  thought,  and  fineness  as  well  I 
as  strength  of  imagination.  But  their  intrinsic  excel-' 
lence  is  underrated  from  their  being  tried  by  the  standard 
which  their  elder  brother  established.  "  Glencoe,"  in 
particular,  is  a  noble  drama,  replete  with  grandeur  and 
beauty  of  sentiment  and  expression,  and  displaying  much 
skill  in  the  delineation  of  character. 

The  exuberance  of  imagination  and  sensibility  which 
Talfourd  manifests  in  all  his  compositions,  seems  to  in- 
dicate that  his  true  vocation  is  poetry.  In  kindly  feeling, 
in  genial  sympathy  with  his  race,  in  that  running  over 
of  the  heart  in  the  worship  of  all  that  is  great  and  good 
in  character  and  life,  in  all  those  qualities  which  mark 
the  musing  and  imaginative  poet,  he  is  perhaps  not  ex- 
celled by  any  contemporary.  Still,  with  a  nature  which 
seems  so  singularly  fitted  for  the  quiet  pursuits  of  litera- 
ture, his  life  thus  far  must  have  been  somewhat  practical. 
He  is  a  distinguished  lawyer  and  politician.  His  literary 
productions  have  been  conceived  and  executed  in  the 
pauses  of  active  professional  business.  He  is  one  of 
those  authors  against  whom  we  never  bring  the  com- 
plaint of  having  written  too  much.  Indeed,  we  wish 
that  he  would  abandon  other  avocations,  and  devote 
himself  wholly  to  letters.  This  wish,  as  generally  ap- 
plied, we  know  is  nothing  more  than  a  sickening  expres- 
sion of  mawkishness  and  hypocrisy ;  but  in  the  case  of 


102  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

Talfourd,  it  springs  directly  from  the  heart  of  every 
reader  who  has  drawn  delight  and  mental  nourishment 
irom  his  writings.  We  rather  grudge  the  hours  which 
^oets  of  his  class  devote  to  more  worldly  duties.  We 
imagine  we  have  a  moral  claim  upon  their  souls,  and 
hardly  acknowledge  their  right  to  give  their  powers  any 
other  direction  than  what  seems  at  once  to  be  their  nat- 
ural tendency,  and  to  minister  to  our  highest  pleasures. 
Jf,  however,  our  author  should  not  add  one  line  to  what 
he  has  already  written,  his  name  is  sure  to  be  warmly 
cherished  by  those  to  whom  his  works  have  been  pleas- 
ant and  profitable  companions,  with  familiar  faces  ever 
beaming  with  benignity  and  sinlessness  ;  whose  love  of 
moral  and  intellectual  excellence  he  has  kindled  or  ele- 
vated; and  who  can  pardon  an  occasional  paradox  or 
fallacy,  when  it  springs  from  a  desire  to  vindicate  the 
intrinsic  nobleness  of  the  poet's  vocation,  and  is  associ- 
ated with  such  high  moral  principle,  and  so  many  valu- 
able and  soul-animating  truths. 


WORDS/ 

Words,  we  are  told,  are  the  signs  of  ideas.  This 
driinition,  at  best,  is  faulty;,  and,  in  a  majority  of  cases, 
untrue.  Nothing  is  more  common  than  to  see  words 
without  any  sign  of  ideas  at  all.  Besides,  those  who 
understand  the  nature  of  language,  and  wield  uncon- 
trolled dominion  over  all  its  powers,  have  been  careful 
to  tell  us  that  the  true  use  of  words  is  not  to  express,  but 
to  conceal,  ideas.  Words,  moreover,  are  of  such  inherent 
value  in  themselves,  and  in  the  concerns  of  the  world 
exercise  such  untrammelled  influence,  that  it  is  unjust  to 
degrade  them  from  sovereigns  into  representatives.  It 
would  be  much  more  modest  for  lovers  of  definition  to 
say,  not  that  words  are,  but  that  they  should  be,  the 
signs  of  ideas.  The  moralist  is  more  philosophical.  He 
distinguishes  carefully  between  qualities  and  their  appli- 
cation. He  defines  the  laws  of  ethics,  and  informs  us 
that  men  should  obey  them,  —  not  that  they  do. 

The  true  ruler  of  this  big,  bouncing  world  is  the  Lexi- 
con. Every  new  word  added  to  its  accumulated  thou- 
sands is  a  new  element  of  servitude  to  mankind.  We 
should  therefore  look  sharply  at  all  axioms  which  seem 
to  fix  the  signification  of  these  little  substantives  and 
sovereigns.  The  notion  that  they  are  the  signs  of 
thought  can  be  disposed  of  without  any  train  of  tedious 

*  American  Keview,  February    IS45. 


104  ESSAYS    AND    K£VIEWS. 

argument ;  because  the  originators  and  defenders  of  thai 
notion  are  found  inconsistent,  when  we  unite  any  two 
of  their  propositions.  For  instance,  the  remark  is  often 
heard,  that  certain  words  in  certain  connections  are  "full 
of  sound  and  fury,  signifying  nothing."  Now,  if  words 
be  full  of  sound,  they  must  necessarily  be  sound  words ; 
and  if  words  are  the  signs  of  ideas,  sound  words  must 
represent  sound  thoughts.  Here  is  a  logical  dilemma 
for  these  axiomatic  gentlemen. 

Indeed,  words,  in  themseWes,  are  nothing  more  than 
"mouthfuls  of  spoken  wind,"  the  sons  and  daughters  of 
the  tongue  and  lungs.  They  are  hardened  into  consist- 
ency by  a  process  of  pens,  ink,  and  paper.  In  this  state 
they  take  form.  But  naturally  they  are  immaterial  sub- 
stances, like  thoughts.  The  sculptor  embodies  an  idea 
in  marble,  and  we  discriminate  between  the  essence  and 
the  form.  Why  should  we  not  also  distinguish  between 
a  word  printed  or  written,  and  a  word  spoken  or  con- 
ceived, —  between  the  body  and  the  soul  of  an  expulsion 
of  air?  Words,  in  truth,  are  entities,  real  existences, 
immortal  beings ;  and,  though  I  would  not  go  the  whole 
length  of  Hazlitt,  in  saying  that  they  are  the  only  things 
that  live  forever,  I  would  vindicate  their  title  to  a  claim 
in  the  eternities  of  this  world,  and  defend  them  from  the 
cavils  of  presumption  and  ignorance, 

Shakspeare,  speaking  through  Lorenzo,  regrets,  with 
much  feeling,  the  thickness  of  ear  which  prevents  us 
from  drinking  in  the  music  of  the  spheres.  But  how 
much  more,  in  a  moral  and  intellectual  point  of  view, 
should  we  lament  that  hard  condition  of  our  faculty  of 
hearing,  by  which  we  are  prevented  from  enjoying  all 
the  sweet  noises  of  the  past,  and  compelled  to  hear  only 
the  harsh  gutturals  of  the  /resent.     Every  disturbance 


WORDS. 


105 


of  the  atmosphere,  caused  by  the  ejection  of  a  word,  does 
not  cease  with  our  perception  of  it,  but  is  everlastingly 
active.  All  around  us  now  are  the  words  of  Noah,  and 
Moses,  and  Plato,  and  Socrates,  and  Shakspeare,  and 
Milton ;  and  if  our  ears  were  only  delicate  enough  to 
convey  the  sounds  into  our  minds,  we  might  hear,  with 
our  outward  organ,  Plato  converse  on  the  soul's  immor- 
tality, Socrates  gravel  a  sophist  with  his  interrogative 
logic,  Shakspeare  sting  Ben  Jonson  or  Master  Decker 
with  a  joke  worthy  of  Thersites,  and  Milton  ask  Quaker 
Ellwood  to  read  Homer  to  him,  or  rebuke  his  daughters 
for  unkind ness  and  inattention.  The  air  is  a  more  faith- 
ful chronicler  of  words  than  books.  Every  whisper  of 
wickedness  which  has  fallen  from  the  white  lips  of  a 
tyrant  or  murderer,  and  which  has  never  passed  into  but 
one  human  heart,  is  still  alive  in  the  air,  and  circling  the 
earth  in  company  with  the  song  of  Miriam,  and  the 
invectives  of  Luther,  and  the  low  prayer  of  Ridley,  and 
the  scoff  of  D'Holbach,  and  the  profaneness  of  Rochester, 
and  the  denunciations  of  Burke.  Truly  are  we  sur- 
rounded with  Voices.  The  sacredness  and  awful  respon- 
sibilities of  speech,  —  the  latent  importance  of  idle 
words,  —  consist  in  their  ever-present  existence.  No 
sound  that  goes  from  the  lip  into  the  air  can  ever  die, 
even  in  a  sensual  sense,  until  the  atmosphere  which 
wraps  our  planet  in  its  huge  embrace  has  passed  into 
nothingness.  Words,  then,  have  a  being  of  their  own  ; 
they  exist  after  death,  or  rather  they  continue  to  exist 
after  all  memory  of  them  has  departed  from  the  minds 
into  which  they  originally  entered. 

Leaving,  however,  these  lofty  notions  of  words,  and 
coming  down  to  the  every-day  world  of  books  and  men, 
we  observe  many  queer  developments  of  the  cozenage  of 


'08  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

clad  warrior.  He  is  fond  of  levelling  an  obstacle  by  a 
polysyllabic  battering-ram.  Burke's  words  are  continu- 
ally practising  the  broad-sword  exercise,  and  sweeping 
down  adversaries  with  every  stroke.  Arbuthnot  "  plays 
his  weapon  like  a  tongue  of  flame."  Addison  draws 
up  his  light  infantry  in  orderly  array,  and  marches 
through  sentence  after  sentence,  without  having  his 
ranks  disordered  or  his  line  broken.  Luther  is  different. 
His  words  are  "  half-battle  ;  "  "  his  smiting,  idiomatic 
phrases  seem  to  cleave  into  the  very  secret  of  the  mat- 
ter." Gibbon's  legions  are  heavily  armed,  and  march 
with  precision  and  dignity  to  the  music  of  their  own 
tramp.  They  are  splendidly  equipped ;  but  a  nice  eye 
can  discern  a  little  rust  beneath  their  fine  apparel,  and 
there  are  suttlers  in  his  camp  who  lie,  cog,  and  talk 
gross  obscenity.  Macaulay,  brisk,  lively,  keen,  and 
energetic,  runs  his  thoughts  rapidly  through  his  sen- 
tence, and  kicks  out  of  the  way  every  word  which 
obstructs  his  passage.  He  reins  in  his  steed  only  when 
he  has  reached  his  goal,  and  then  does  it  with  such 
celerity  that  he  is  nearly  thrown  backwards  by  the  sud- 
denness of  his  stoppage.  Giffbrd's  words  are  moss- 
troopers, that  waylay  innocent  travellers  and  murder 
them  for  hire.  Jeffrey  is  a  fine  "  lance,"  with  a  sort  of 
Arab  swiftness  in  his  movement,  and  runs  an  iron-clad 
horseman  through  the  eye  before  he  has  had  time  to 
close  his  helmet.  John  Wilson's  camp  is  a  disorganized 
mass,  who  might  do  effectual  service  under  better  disci- 
pline, but  who,  under  his  lead,  are  sufl^ered  to  carry  )n  a 
ramblmg  and  predatory  warfare,  and  disgrace  their 
general  by  flagitious  excesses.  Sometimes  they  steal, 
sometimes  swear,  sometimes  drink,  and  sometimes  pray. 
Swift's  words  are  porcupine's  quills,  which  be  throws 


WORDS.  109 

with  unerring  aim  at  whoever  approaches  his  lair.  All 
of  Ebenezer  Elliot's  words  are  gifted  with  huge  fists,  to 
pommel  and  bruise.  Chatham  and  Mirabeau  throw  hot 
shot  into  their  opponents'  magazines.  Talfourd's*  forces 
are  orderly  and  disciplined,  and  march  to  the  music  of 
the  Dorian  flute ;  those  of  Keats  keep  time  to  the  tones 
of  the  pipe  of  Phoebus ;  and  the  hard,  harsh-featured 
battalions  of  Maginn  are  always  preceded  by  a  brass 
band.  Hallam's  word-infantry  can  do  much  execution, 
when  they  are  not  in  each  other's  way.  Pope's  phrases 
are  either  daggers  or  rapiers.  Willis's  words  are  often 
tipsy  with  the  champagne  of  the  fancy ;  but  even  when 
they  reel  and  stagger,  they  keep  the  line  of  grace  and 
beauty,  and  though  scattered  at  first  by  a  fierce  onset 
from  graver  cohorts,  soon  reunite  without  wound  or  loss. 
John  Neal's  forces  are  multitudinous,  and  fire  briskly  at 
everything.  They  occupy  all  the  provinces  of  letters, 
and  are  nearly  useless  from  being  spread  over  too  much 
ground.  Webster's  words  are  thunderbolts,  which  some- 
times miss  the  Titans  at  whom  they  are  hurled,  but 
always  leave  enduring  marks  when  they  strike.  Haz- 
litt's  verbal  army  is  sometimes  drunk  and  surly,  some- 
times foaming  with  passion,  sometimes  cool  and  malig- 
nant ;  but,  drunk  or  sober,  is  ever  dangerous  to  cope  with. 
Some  of  Tom  Moore's  words  are  shhiing  dirt,  whi-'h  he 
flings  with  excellent  aim.  This  list  might  be  indefinitely 
extendsd,  and  arranged  with  more  regard  to  merit  and 
chronoiogy.  My  own  words,  in  this  connection,  might 
be  compared  to  a  ragged,  undisciplined  militia,  which 
could  be  easily  routed  by  a  charge  of  horse,  and  which 
are  apt  to  fire  into  each  other's  faces. 

There  is  a  great  amount  of  critical  nonsense  talked 
about   style.     Due   prim  Aristarchus   tells   us   that  no 


110  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

manner  of  expression  is  so  good  as  that  of  Addison; 
another  contends    for   Carlyle ;    and   both  would   have 
words  arrayed  according  to  their  own  models,  without 
regardf  to  individual  mental  bias  or  idiosyncrasies.     If 
style  be  good  just  in  proportion  as  it  enables  an  author 
to  express  his  thoughts,  it  should  be  shackled  by  few 
general  rules.     Every  style  formed  elaborately  on  any 
model,  must  be  affected  and  strait-laced.      Every  imi- 
tator of  Byron  and  Pope  has  been  damned  and  forgotten. 
The  nature  of  a  man  can  only  squeak  out,  when  it  ia 
hampered  by  artificial   environments.     Some  thoughts, 
in  a  cramped   style,  look  like  Venus  improved  by  the 
addition  of  busk  and  bustle.    The  selection  and  arrange- 
ment of  a  writer's  words  should  be  as  characteristic  as 
his  ideas  and  feelings.     There  is  no  model  style.    What 
is  pleasing  in  the  diction  of  one  author  disgusts  us  in  a 
copyist.      If  a  person  admires  a  particular  method  of 
arranging  words,  that  arrangement  will  occur  naturally 
in  his  own  diction,  without  malice  aforethought.     Some 
writers   occasionally  fall    into   the    mode   of  expression 
adopted  by  others.     This  illustrates  a  similarity  of  dis- 
position, and  is  not  imitation.     As  a  style,  when  it  is 
natural,  comes  rather  from  the  heart  than  the  head,  men 
of  similar  tastes  and  feelings  will  be  likely  to  fall  into 
a  similar  form  of  expression.     Leigh  Hunt's  easy  slip- 
shod is  pleasant  enough  to  read,  as  his  nature  is  easy 
and  slipshod  ;    but  only  think  of  Carlyle  running  into 
that  way  of  writing !     Sydney  Smith,  concise,  brisk  and 
brilliant,  has  a   manner  of  composition  which  exactly 
corresponds    to    those  qualities;    but  how  would  Lord 
Bacon   look  in    Smith's   sentences  ?     How  grandly  the 
soul  of  Milton  rolls  and  winds  through  the  arches  and 
^byrinths  of  his  involved  and  magnificent  diction,  wak- 


11 


ing  musical  echoes  at  every  new  turn  and  variation  of 
its  progress —  but  how  could  the  thought  of  sucii  a  light 
trifler  as  Gibber  travel  through  so  glorious  a  nnaze,  v/ith- 
out  being  lost  or  crushed  in  the  journey  ?  The  plain, 
manly  language  of  John  Locke  could  hardly  be  trans- 
lated into  the  terminology  of  Kant  —  would  look  out  of 
place  in  the  rapid  and  sparkling  movement  of  Cousin's 
periods  —  and  would  appear  mean  in  the  cadences  of 
Dugald  Stewart.  Every  writer,  therefore,  is  his  own 
standard.  The  law  by  which  we  judge  of  his  sentences 
must  be  deduced  frovi  his  sentences.  If  we  can  dis- 
cover what  the  man  is,  we  know  what  his  style  ought  to 
be.  If  it  indicate  his  character,  it  is,  relatively,  good; 
if  it  contradict  his  character,  though  its  cadences  are 
faultless,  it  is  still  bad,  and  not  to  be  endured.  To  con- 
demn Carlyle  and  Macaulay  because  they  do  not  run 
their  thoughts  into  the  moulds  of  Addison  or  Burke,  is 
equivalent  to  condemning  a  bear  because  he  does  not 
digest  stones  like  an  ostrich,  or  a  chicken  because  it 
goes  on  two  legs  instead  of  four.  The  alleged  faults 
belong  to  organization.  We  may  quarrel  with  a  writer, 
if  we  please,  for  possessing  a  baa  or  tasteless  nature,  but 
not  with  the  style  which  takes  from  that  nature  its  form 
and  movement. 

It  is  singular  that  Macaulay  and  Carlyle,  continually 
protesting  against  alTectation  in  the  mode  of  expressing 
thought,  should  be  themselves  considered  the  high  priests 
at  the  shrine  of  aflectation.  In  truth,  no  writers  are  less 
open  to  the  charge.  Their  styles  are  exact  mirrors  of 
their  minds.  Any  other  form  of  expression  R'ould,  in 
them,  be  gross  affectation.  When  they  change  their  dis- 
positions and  niodes  of  thinking,  and  preserve  tlieir  way 


112  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEM^S. 

of  writing,  they  will  then  be  justly  liable  to  rubuke,  and 
be  justly  punished  with  neglect. 

Words  have  generally  been  termed  the  dress  of 
thought.  We  recollect  of  hearing  a  lecturer  on  elocu- 
tion give  a  minute  description  of  the  manner  in  which 
this  singular  tailoring  of  ideas  was  effected.  He  ap- 
pareled an  abstract  conception  of  the  Intellect  in  stock- 
ings, shirt,  trowsers,  vest,  coat  and  bright  buttons,  and 
showed  us  those  closets  and  drawers  in  the  brain's 
chamber  where  such  articles  of  clothing  were  deposited. 
This  notion  of  words  being  the  dress  of  thought  is  indeed 
curious.  Let  us  suppose  a  case.  An  Imagination  rises 
from  the  soft  bed  of  Ideality,  on  hearing  the  tinkle  of 
Master  Reason's  or  Master  Volition's  bell.  Of  course,  it 
does  not  desire  to  appear  before  company  in  a  state  of 
nudity,  and  it  accordingly  trips  lightly  into  the  dressing- 
room  of  the  Noddle,  and  overhauls  the  mind's  ward- 
robe. Now,  this  wardrobe,  in  some  heads,  is  scanty 
and  poor;  in  others,  overflowing  with  rich  and  costly 
apparel.  At  any  rate,  our  Imagination  slips  on  the  most 
shining  and  flaring  suit  of  clothes  it  can  find,  and  then 
slides  along  a  number  of  nerves  into  the  lungs,  and  sails 
out  of  the  mouth  on  a  stream  of  sound,  to  delight  the 
world  with  its  presence.  In  the  verbal  wardrobe  of 
Wordsworth  there  would  be  few  rich  garments ;  conse- 
quently, most  of  his  thoughts  or  fancies  would  be  com- 
pelled to  appear  in  peasants'  frocks  or  suits  of  "  homely 
russet  brown."  All  of  Byron's  ideas  aspi'red  to  appear 
in  regal  splendor;  and,  as  they  were  in  the  cu?tom  of 
crowding  thick  and  fast  into  the  dressing-room,  there 
must  have  been  some  jostling  and  fighting  among  them, 
for  the  most  costly  and  showy  suits.  Vice  and  False- 
hood would  crave  fine  apparel  as  well  as  Virtue  and 


WORDS.  113 

Truth ;  and,  in  his  case,  they  must  often  have  succeeded 
in  bullying  the  latter  out  of  their  rights  and  "  tights." 
There  are  a  class  of  authors  who  have  rich  garments,  but 
no  thoughts  to  put  into  them.  The  garments,  however, 
please  the  eye  of  the  multitude,  and  few  disco^'er  that 
they  are  stuffed  with  brass  instead  of  brains.  Some 
poets  have  nothing  but  ragged  clothes  in  their  ward- 
robe, and  their  poor,  shivering  Ideas  go  sneaking  about 
the  alleys  of  letters,  ashamed  to  be  seen  by  their  more 
richly-dressed  relations.  Others,  though  in  tatters,  have 
a  certain  quick  impudence,  like  that  of  Robert  Macaire, 
which  enables  them  to  bustle  about  among  their  betters, 
and  seem  genteef,  though  in  rags.  We  sometimes 
observe  thoughts  in  the  prim  coats  and  broad  hats  of 
Quakers ;  but  they  are  not  admitted  to  the  "  West  End," 
—  excepting,  of  course,  "  the  West  End  of  the  Universe." 
Sir  Charles  Sedley  was  distinguished  for  writing  poems 
of  considerable  impurity  of  idea  and  considerable  purity 
of  language.  His  biographer,  therefore,  is  careful  to 
inform  us  that  though  the  sentiments  of  Sir  Charles 
were  as  foul  as  those  of  Rochester,  they  were  not  so 
unmodest,  because  they  were  arrayed  in  clean  linen. 
Dryden's  wardrobe,  we  are  told,  was  like  that  of  a  Rus- 
sian noble,  —  "  all  filth  and  diamonds,  dirty  linen,  and 
inestimable  sables."  To  such  speculations  and  fancies 
as  these  are  we  led,  when  we  acknowledge  the  truth  of 
the  maxim,  that  words  are  the  dress  of  thought. 

Words,  however,  even  in  the  common  meaning,  are 
not,  when  used  by  a  master-mind,  the  mere  dress  of 
thought.  Such  a  definition  degrades  them  below  their 
sphere,  and  misconceives  their  importance.  They  are, 
as  Wordsworth  has  happily  said,  the  incarnation  of 
thought.  They  bear  the  same  relation  to  ideas,  that  the 
8 


J 14  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

body  bears  to  the  soul.  Take  the  most  beautif*  ao** 
sincere  poetry  which  has  ever  been  written,  a>xi  its 
charm  is  broken  as  soon  as  the  words  are  disturoed  or 
altered.  If  any  expression  can  be  employed  except  that 
which  is  used,  the  poet  is  a  bungling  rhetorician,  and 
writes  on  the  surface  of  his  theme.  A  Thought  em- 
bodied and  embrained  in  fit  words,  walks  the  earth  a 
living  being.  No  part  of  its  body  can  be  stricken  from 
it  or  injured,  without  disfiguring  the  beauty  of  its  form, 
or  spoiling  the  grace  of  its  motion.  Such  Thoughts, 
perhaps,  are  few  in  number ;  but  woe  upon  those  taste- 
less critics  who  would  meddle  with  those  few,  and  dare 
to  alter  their  organization,  on  the  plea  of  improvement ! 
Words,  in  a  few  "  eminent  hands,"  are  servile  minis- 
ters ;  but  generally,  even  in  great  writers,  they  are  kings 
who  rule,  not  subjects  who  obey.  In  some  minds  they 
obtain  "  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom  "  over  the  whole 
domain  of  thought  and  emotion.  This  servitude  to 
words  often  impairs  the  healthy  action  of  a  writer's 
mind.  It  is  the  parent  of  many  fallacies  and  incon- 
sistencies. For  instance,  a  reasoner  desires  to  argue 
closely  and  logically  ;  a  word  often  leads  him  astray  into 
a  sophism,  or  tempts  him,  by  its  winning  looks,  to  slide 
into  an  episode.  A  critic  wishes  to  analyze  a  book ;  but 
instead  of  analysis  he  wanders  slyly  into  eulogy  or 
denunciation ;  for  certain  words,  which  sprang  up,  like 
flowers  or  thistles,  in  his  path,  were  too  sweet  or  too 
sharp  for  him  to  avoid.  To  give  point  to  a  period,  some 
writers  will  throw  in  a  word  which  will  stab  innocence 
or  mediocrity  like  a  poniard ;  to  make  a  sentence  end 
harmoniously,  others  will  pad  it  with  words  which  are 
meaningless  or  out  of  place.  In  describing  characters 
or  scenery,  the  general  custom  is  to  employ  language 


WORDS. 


115 


which  is  beautiful  or  strong,  rather  than  what  is  appli- 
cable. Nothing  is  rarer  than  the  use  of  a  word  in  its 
exact  meaning.  Amplitude  of  comprehension  is  a  much 
finer  phrase  than  good  reasoning  powers,  and  conse- 
quently every  respectable  thinker  is  made  a  Bacon ; 
vivid  imagination  sounds  better  than  moderate  talent, 
and  of  course  every  rhyme-stringer  is  a  Byron ;  miser- 
able drivelling  has  a  sharper  edge  than  mediocre  merit, 
and  all  commonplace  writers  are  therefore  to  be  fools  or 
dunces.  Lord  Byron,  in  alluding  to  the  supposed  cause 
of  Keats's  death,  said  — 

"  Strange  that  the  soul,  that  very  fiery  particle, 
Should  let  itself  be  snuffed  out  liy  an  article." 

Hunt  told  him  that  Keats  was  not  killed  in  this  way. 
Byron  promised  to  strike  it  out.  But  the  smartness  and 
the  rhyme  were  temptations  stronger  than  his  conscience, 
and  he  allowed  the  couplet  to  remain. 

It  would  be  an  easy  matter  to  mention  some  words 
which  have  exercised  greater  influence,  and  swayed  with 
more  absolute  power,  than  Alexander  or  Napoleon.  Any 
one  can  pick  up  in  a  newspaper  the  sovereigns  of  our 
own  country.  A  word  often  keeps  its  seat  in  the  mind 
of  a  people,  after  the  thought,  to  which  originally  it 
was  nominally  attached,  has  disappeared.  Words  head 
armies,  overthrow  dynasties,  man  ships,  separate  fami- 
lies, cozen  cozeners,  and  steal  hearts  and  purses.  And 
if  physiologists  and  metaphysicians  are  driven  into  a 
corner,  and  are  compelled  to  give  the  real  distinction 
between  human  beings  and  animals,  they  are  ahnost 
sure  to  say  it  consists  in  the  power  of  speech — in  the 
capacity  to  frame,  use,  and  multiply  at  discretion,  these 
omnipotent  "  mouthfuls  of  spoken  wind."  Words  — 
words  —  words  I 


JAMES'S  NOVELS.* 

The  author  of  "  Sartor  Resartus,"  in  a  petition  to  the 
House  of  Commons,  on  the  copyright  question,  signs 
himself  "  Thomas  Carlyle,  a  Maker  of  Books."  This 
phrase,  which  applies  to  Herr  Teufelsdrockh  only  in  a 
quaint  sense,  is  applicable  to  Mr.  G.  P.  R.  James  in  its 
literal  meaning.  He  is,  indeed,  no  "maker"  in  the  old 
significance  of  that  term,  for  he  creates  nothing ;  but  he 
is  emphatically  a  literary  mechanic.  The  organs  of 
his  brain  are  the  tools  of  his  trade.  He  manufactures 
novels,  as  other  people  manufacture  shoes,  shirts,  and 
sheetings ;  he  continually  works  up  the  same  raw 
material  into  very  nearly  the  same  shapes.  The  success 
he  has  met  with  in  his  literary  speculations  should  be 
chronicled  in  the  Merchants'  or  Mechanics'  Magazine. 
He  is  a  most  scientific  expositor  of  the  fact,  that  a  man 
may  be  a  maker  of  books  without  being  a  maker  of 
thoughts ;  that  he  may  be  the  reputed  author  of  a  hun- 
dred volumes,  and  flood  the  market  with  his  literary 
wares,  and  yet  have  very  few  ideas  and  principles  for  his 
stock  in  trade.  For  the  last  ten  years,  he  has  been 
repeating  his  own  repetitions,  and  echoing  his  own 
echoes.     His  first  novel  was  a  shot  that  went  through 

*  The  False  Heir.  By  G.  P.  R.  James,  Esq.,  author  of  "  Morley  Ernstein," 
"  Forest  Days,"  &c.  New- York  :  Harper  «fc  Brothers.  Price  one  shilling 
1843,  —  North  American  Review,  April,  1S44. 


James's  novels.  IIT 

'Me  target,  and  he  has  ever  since  been  assiduDUsly  firing 
through  the  hole.  To  protect  his  person  fr^m  critical 
assault,  he  might  pile  up  a  bulwark  of  books  many  vol- 
umes thick  and  many  feet  high ;  yet  the  essence  of  all 
that  he  has  written,  if  subjected  to  a  refining  process, 
might  be  compressed  into  a  small  space,  and  even  then 
would  hardly  bear  the  test  of  time,  and  journey  safely 
down  to  posterity.  When  we  reflect  upon  the  character 
and  construction  of  his  works,  and  apply  to  them  certain 
searching  tests,  they  dwindle  quickly  into  very  moderate 
dimensions.  We  find  that  the  enormous  helmet  encloses 
only  a  small  nut,  that  the  nut  is  an  amplified  exponent 
of  the  kernel,  and  that  the  kernel  itself  is  neither  very 
rich  nor  very  rare.  As  space  has  no  limits,  and  as  large 
portions  of  it  are  still  unoccupied  by  tangible  bodies,  it 
seems  not  very  philosophical  to  quarrel  with  any  person 
who  endeavors  to  fill  up  its  wide  chasms  ;  yet,  in  the 
case  of  Mr.  James,  we  grudge  the  portion  of  infinite 
space  which  his  writings  occupy,  and  dispute  his  right  to 
pile  up  matter  which  is  the  t\^pe  or  symbol  of  so  small 
an  amount  of  spirit.  We  sigh  for  the  old  vacuum,  and 
think,  that  though  nature  may  have  abhorred  it  in  the 
days  of  Aristotle,  her  feelings  must  have  changed  sincp 
modem  mediocrity  has  filled  it  with  such  weak  apologies 
for  substance  and  form. 

Piron,  standing  before  the  hundred  volumes  of  Vol- 
taire, remarked,  "  This  luggage  is  too  heavy  to  go  down 
to  posterity."  What  would  he  have  said,  if  he  could 
have  seen  the  hundred  volumes  published  by  Mr.  James? 
We  think  of  "  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  which  one  can 
carry  in  his  pocket ;  of  Charles  Lamb's  delightful  "  Es- 
says ;  "  of  the  tragedy  of  "  Ion  ;"  and  of  many  other  small 
and  precious  gems,  whicii  time  cannot  dim ;  and  when 


lis  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

we  contrast  these  with  Mr.  James's  voluminous  medioc 
rity  and  diffusive  commonplace,  we  obtain  a  new  and  vivid 
idea  of  the  distinction  between  quantity  and  quality. 

When  a  man  has  little  or  nothing  to  say,  he  should 
say  it  in  the  smallest  space.  He  should  not,  at  any  rate, 
take  up  more  room  than  suffices  for  a  creative  mind. 
He  should  not  provoke  hostility  and  petulance,  by  the 
effrontery  of  his  demands  upon  time  and  patience.  He 
should  let  us  off  with  a  few  volumes,  and  gain  our  grati- 
tude for  his  benevolence,  if  not  our  praise  for  his  talents. 
But  when  we  find  him  "multiplying  himself  among 
mankind,"  and  looking  out  upon  us  from  such  a  vast 
variety  of  points,  —  demanding  our  assent  to  the  common 
notion  that  he  is  a  great  producer  of  thought  and  senti- 
ment, —  we  are  provoked  into  a  desire  to  sift  his  preten- 
sions to  the  bottom. 

We  would  not  be  so  unjust  to  the  numerous  readers 
of  Mr.  James,  even  to  that  unfortunate  portion  of  them 
who  consider  him  the  legitimate  successor  of  Scott,  as  to 
assert  their  ignorance  of  his  faculty  of  reproduction.  A 
dim  reminiscence,  similar  to  that  on  which  Plato  founds 
his  doctrine  of  the  soul's  preexistence,  they  must  have 
had  occasionally,  while  re-perusing  an  old  novel  in  a 
new  dress.  A  dull  country  gentleman  was  once  seduced 
into  an  attempt  to  read  "The  Vicar  of  Wakefield."  He 
journeyed  through  that  exquisite  book,  seemingly  at  the 
rate  of  ten  pages  in  an  evening ;  but  when  he  laid  it 
down  for  the  night,  and  carefully  marked  the  place 
where  he  stopped,  some  impudent  niece  or  nephew  put 
the  mark  about  eight  pages  back  in  the  volume.  Of 
course,  many  months  elapsed  before  he  arrived  at  the 
end.  He  was  then  asked  how  he  was  pleased  with  it. 
♦'  O  !  he  liked  it  very  well,  but  he  thought  there  was  » 


James's  novels.  119 

.ittle  repetition  in  it !  "  An  objection  somewhat  similar 
to  this  v/e  have  heard  made  against  Mr.  James,  and 
with  about  as  clear  an  insight  into  the  real  secret  of  the 
matter. 

To  write  a  good  novel,  or  a  series  of  good  novels,  is 
not  generally  considered,  even  by  those  whose  whole 
reading  is  confined  to  romance,  to  require  any  great 
effort  of  talent  or  genius.  A  man  who  repeats  some 
axioms  in  physics,  or  wraps  up  a  plain  fact  in  a  meta- 
physical shroud,  is  more  likely  to  be  considered  as  a 
great  personage,  than  a  writer  of  creative  mind,  who 
thrills  the  heart,  or  warms  the  imagination,  with  a  prose 
epic.  The  products  of  the  inventive  powers  rarely  obtain 
so  much  of  the  popular  reverence  as  the  deductions  of 
the  understanding.  Works  which  have  caused  their 
authors  vast  labor  and  patient  meditation  ;  which  have 
stimulated  every  faculty  of  their  nature  to  the  utmost, 
which  may  have  required,  not  only  the  highest  imagina- 
tion, but  the  deepest  and  most  comprehensive  thought ; 
and  which  are  pervaded,  it  may  be,  by  the  results  of  a 
whole  life  of  feeling,  action,  observation,  and  reflection  ; 
are  still  generally  classed  as  "light  reading."  It  may  be 
light  reading,  but  nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  it  is 
not  commonly  light  ivriting.  The  novel  of  "  Ivanhoe" 
may  be  placed  by  some  in  the  department  of  light  litera- 
ture. But  if  those  who  coolly  classify  in  this  manner 
would  but  reflect  upon  the  vast  and  minute  knowledge 
of  English  history  it  displays,  the  power  of  intellect 
evinced  in  the  conduct  of  the  story,  and  the  greater 
power  of  imagination  exercised  in  making  the  dead  past 
a  living  present ;  and,  especially,  if  they  would  bring  to 
mind  tho  author,  as  he  appeared  while  the  scene  between 
Rebecca  and  the  Knight  Templar  was  circling  tlirough 


120  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS 

his  heart  and  fancy,  as  he  strode  hurriedly  up  and  down 
his  study,  his  face  agitated  by  passionate  thought,  and 
his  lips  quivering  with  the  intensity  of  his  feelings,  — 
they  might  perhaps  think  that  the  matter  was  not  so 
"  light "  after  all,  and  that  any  word  suggestive  of  indo- 
lence was  the  most  inapplicable  that  could  be  used. 

In  reading  novels,  but  little  regard  is  paid  -to  the  high 
genius  which  they  sometimes  manifest.  The  interest 
of  the  story  is  the  test  which  is  usually  applied  by  the 
general  reader.  A  young  lady  reads  with  great  delight 
"  The  Scottish  Chiefs,"  "The  Children  of  the  Abbey,"  or 
"  Santo  Sebastiano."  The  sentiments  are  refined,  the 
incidents  please,  and  the  whole  work  is  "  so  interesting  !  " 
She  takes  up  "  The  Bride  of  Lammermoor,"  a  tragedy 
which  Sophocles  might  have  written,  had  he  lived  in  this 
age,  and  acknowledges  that,  though  it  is  interesting,  it 
is  an  unpleasant  book,  for  it  ends  badly.  And  thus  she 
judges.  To  her.  Miss  Porter,  Mrs.  Roche,  Mrs.  Radcliffe, 
Miss  Edgeworth,  Scott,  Bulwer,  James,  and  Dickens,  are 
all  delightful  novelists,  all  interesting,  and  therefore  all 
equally  good,  except  that  Scott  and  Dickens  are  some- 
times inclined  to  low  humor,  and  are  not  always  so 
refined  as  the  others.  At  the  same  time,  she  acknowl- 
edges that  reading  their  books  is  a  frivolous  occupation, 
and  is  likely  to  unfit  the  mind  for  practical  duties  ;  and 
she  throws  out  dubious  hints  of  the  histories  and  phi- 
losophies which  form  the  staple  of  her  reading,  and  of 
the  scientific  lectures  which  she  honors  with  her  attend- 
ance. 

The  absence  in  most  minrls  of  any  clear  principles  of 
criticism,  and  the  many  bad  and  feeble  novels  which  are 
mixed  up  confusedly  with  those  which  are  excellent,  are 
the  probable  causes  of  this  hallucination.     We  are  often 


James's  novels.  121 

stmck  with  the  lack  of  discrimination,  even  of  sensible 
people,  on  this  subject.  SinoUet  and  Fielding  are  placed 
in  the  same  category  with  Ainsworth  and  Lever,  and  all 
arc  often  confounded  with  Dickens.  The  peculiar  taste 
and  idiosyncrasy  of  each  writer,  the  diversity  both  in  the 
subject  and  the  manner  of  its  treatment,  the  different 
faculties  exercised  by  each,  and  the  Avide  difference  in 
the  moral  character  unconsciously  impressed  on  their 
works,  —  all  these  points  are  repeatedly  overlooked.  All 
these  works  please,  and  help  to  while  away  an  hour  of 
ennui  or  leisure,  and  they  all  are  classed  under  one 
undistinguishing  name.  Few  think  that  the  mere  fact 
of  WTiting  a  good  work  of  fiction  entitles  an  author  to  a 
high  rank,  even  among  those  who  are  called  imaginative 
writers.     Pope,  they  think,  will  outlive  the  whole  tribe. 

Novel-writing,  then,  is  generally  deemed  to  be  as 
"  easy  as  lying ;  "  and  the  facility  with  which  things 
called  novels  are  written  seems  to  favor  the  dogma. 
Still,  we  humbly  conceive  it  to  be  an  error.  Many  per- 
sons have  attained  a  marvellous  proficiency  in  falsehood, 
and  tell  lies  as  assiduously  as  a  friar  does  his  beads ;  but 
the  number  of  great  novelists  is  small.  Lying,  there- 
fore, is  no  key  to  the  mystery  of  romance.  Let  us  seek 
the  solution  in  a  rarer  quality  —  truth.  "I  can  write 
prose  as  well  as  Mr.  Pope,"  said  the  sagacious  Edmund 
Curll,  the  bookseller  ;  "  but  he  has  a  knack  of  rhyming 
which  I  do  not  possess."  Now,  the  difference  between 
Mr.  Curll  and  Mr.  Pope  is  no  greater  than  that  which 
exists  between  good  and  bad  novelists.  The  former  have 
a  certain  "knack"  which  the  latter  cannot  obtain  — 
and  this  is  the  knack  of  seeing  and  telling  the  truth. 
Here  is  an  important  distinction.  The  power  of  faith- 
fully delineating  life,  character,  society  and  mamiers,  is 


122  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

one  of  the  rarest  gifts  of  genius.  In  its  greatest  mani- 
Testations,  it  is  felt  to  be  the  noblest  exercise  of  a  cre- 
ative mind. 

Now,  Mr.  James,  in  some  of  the  most  important  quali- 
ications  as  a  novelist,  is  remarkably  d(  iicient.  He  has 
little  objectivity.  He  is  chained  to  his  own  conscious- 
ness. His  insight  into  character  and  life  is  feeble.  He 
cannot  go  out  of  his  own  little  world  of  thought  and 
emotion,  and  sympathize  with  other  grades  and  modes 
of  being.  Everything  he  writes  is  "  sicklied  o'er  "  with 
his  own  feelings.  There  is  no  spontaneous  exercise  of 
his  faculties,  —  none  of  that  yielding  of  the  will  and 
reason  to  the  impulses  of  imagination  and  passion,  — 
none  of  that  running  over  of  the  heart  in  the  worship  of 
the  mind's  creations,  —  none  of  that  forgetfulness  of  self 
in  sympathy  with  other  beings,  —  which  we  observe  in 
the  masters  of  his  art.  His  plots,  his  characters,  his 
emotions,  his  outbreaks  of  feeling,  are  all  deliberated  and 
forced.  He  places  a  moral  reflection,  or  a  feeble  specu- 
lation, at  due  pauses  in  the  march  of  his  story,  with  a 
sort  of  mathematical  precision.  The  reader  who  desires 
not  to  have  his  principles  corrupted  by  unconscious  sym- 
pathy with  any  act  or  utterances  of  the  characters  in  the 
novel  which  may  not  square  with  the  moral  code,  is 
soon  relieved  from  any  apprehension  of  the  kind,  by 
noticing  that  Mr.  James  follows  the  progress  of  the  plot, 
catechism  in  hand,  and  reads  a  homiJy  from  it  whenever 
the  necessities  of  morality  require.  If  he  had  written 
the  tragedy  of  Othello,  and  had  put  into  lago's  mouth 
the  words  whicli  Shakspeare  uses,  he  would  have  filled 
half  of  the  page  with  notes,  stating  his  reasons  for  such 
an  outrage  upon  morality,  carefully  distinguishing  be- 
tween his  own  opinions  and  those  of  the  charact(;r,  and 


James's  novels.  •  123 

adding  copious  truisms  on  the  wickedness  of  malice  and 
revenge.  Molliers,  therefore,  think  they  can  trust  their 
cliildren  to  the  care  of  Mr.  James,  and  are  willing  that 
they  should  journey  through  the  land  of  romance  under 
his  guidance.  As  soon  as  one  of  his  novels  is  issued, 
the  newspapers  devote  a  column  to  his  "  beautiful  "  moral 
reflections  and  rose-colored  sentiments.  Readers  who 
have  a  right  to  demand  that  the  journal  should  be  filled 
with  news  and  advertisements,  find  themselves  cheated 
and  bored,  by  being  compelled  to  admire  the  old  specu- 
lations of  Mr.  James  on  destiny,  fatalism,  the  affections, 
the  will,  and  such  other  topics  as  form  the  staple  of  his 
colloquies  with  the  reader. 

Now,  this  is  "  from  the  purpose  "  of  novel-writing.  To 
a  person  accustomed  to  the  manner  of  greater  and  more 
artistical  novelists,  it  is  an  unendurable  infliction.  If 
the  thoughts  were  valuable  in  themselves,  bore  any 
marks  of  originality  and  freshness,  seemed  to  be  called 
forth  naturally  by  the  incidents  related,  or  were  woven 
with  any  skill  into  the  texture  of  the  narrative,  they 
might  be  pleasing ;  but  the  understanding  of  Mr.  James 
never  succeeds  in  the  attempt  to  clutch  an  original  idea, 
or  to  speculate  on  any  subject  which  requires  dialectical 
powers;  and,  consequently,  he  doses  the  reader  with  tru- 
isms, or  perplexes  him  with  reveries.  He  gives  dim 
hints  of  his  opinions  on  any  question  of  metaphysics 
v/hich  crosses  the  path  of  his  narrative,  but  he  does  not 
grasp  and  attempt  to  settle  it.  The  most  striking  in- 
stances of  "  catching  at  ideas  by  the  tail,"  of  which  we 
have  any  knowledge,  are  seen  in  his  reveries  on  destiny, 
which  reiippear  in  each  successive  work  that  comes  from 
his  fertile  pen  and  unfruitful  intellect.  It  seems  aston- 
ishing, that  a  man  could  have  this  subject  so  often  in 


124  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

his  mind,  for  a  period  of  twenty  years,  and  not  blunder 
upon  some  opinion  about  it,  correct  or  erroneous.  He 
Iocs  not  appear  to  know,  that  his  unformed  notions  on 
this  point,  so  far  as  they  can  be  reduced  to  formulas,  lead 
directly  to  fatalism. 

l^at  the  great  defect  of  Mr.  James  as  a  novelist  is  his 
lack  of  skill  in  the  creation  or  accurate  delineation  of 
individual  character.  If  the  novel  be  intended  as  a 
mirror  of  actual  life,  either  past  or  present,  it  should  con- 
tain not  only  events,  but  men  and  women.  Character 
should  be  exhibited,  not  didactically,  but  dramatically. 
We  demand  human  beings,  —  not  embodied  antitheses, 
or  personified  qualities,  thoughts  or  passions.  The  author 
has  no  right  to  project  himself  into  his  characters,  and 
give  different  proper  names  to  one  personality.  We 
want  a  forcible  conception  and  consistent  development 
of  individual  minds,  with  traits  and  peculiarities  which 
constitute  their  distinction  from  other  minds.  They 
should  be  drawn  with  sufficient  distinctness  to  enable 
the  reader  to  give  them  a  place  in  his  memory,  and  to 
detect  all  departures,  either  in  language  or  action,  from 
the  original  types.  We  desire  beings,  not  ideas ;  some- 
thing concrete,  not  abstract. 

To  fulfil  this  condition  seems  easy ;  but  the  scarcity 
of  men  and  women  in  current  romances  and  plays  proves 
that  it  is  both  difficult  and  indispensable.  A  wide  range 
af  characterization  is  very  rarely  found,  even  in  the 
works  of  men  of  genius,  or  rather  men  with  genius. 
Byron's  power  in  this  respect  only  extended  to  one  char- 
acter, and  that  was  his  own,  placed  in  difierent  circum 
stances,  and  modified  by  varying  impulses.  When  he 
Rimed  at  a  larger  range,  and  attempted  to  give  freshness 
and  life  to  individual  creations,  the  result  was  feebleness 


James's  novels.  125 

fiid  failure,  which  the  energy  and  splendor  of  his  diction 
could  not  wholly  conceal.  Manfred,  Childe  Harold,  and 
Don  Juan,  are  the  different  names  of  one  mind.  Shak- 
speare's  Timon  comprehends  them  all,  and  is  also  more 
naturally  drawn.  Innumerable  instances  might  be  given 
of  strenuous  attempts  made  in  this  difficult  department, 
which  have  ended  in  ignominious  failure.  Dr,  Young's 
Zanga  and  Shiel's  Pescara  are  ideas  and  passions  embod- 
ied,    lago  is  a  man,  possessing  ideas  and  passions. 

In  truth,  to  be  successful  in  the  exact  delineation  of 
character,  requires  a  rare  combination  of  powers,  —  a 
large  heart  and  a  comprehensive  mind.  It  is  the  attri- 
bute of  universality,  not  of  versatility,  or  subtilty.  It 
can  be  obtained  only  by  outward,  as  well  as  inward,  ob- 
servation. That  habit  of  intense  brooding  over  individ- 
ual consciousness,  of  making  the  individual  mind  the 
centre  and  circumference  of  everything,  which  is  com- 
mon to  many  eminent  poets  of  the  present  age,  has 
turned  most  of  them  into  egotists,  and  limited  the  reach 
of  their  minds.  They  are  great  in  a  narrow  sphere. 
They  have  little  of  that  catholicity  of  spirit  which  is 
even  "  tolerant  to  opposite  bigotries ; "  which  seeks  to 
display  men  as  they  are,  not  as  they  may  be,  or  ought 
to  be ;  which  is  not  fanatical  for  one  idea,  and  seeks  not 
to  be  considered  as  the  one  inhabitant  of  the  whole  earth. 
Most  of  our  great  poets  of  the  present  century  have  taken 
the  world  into  their  hands,  and  made  it  over  again, 
agreeably  to  a  type  of  excellence  in  their  own  imagina- 
tions. The  current  subjective  metaphysics  of  the  day 
pursues  the  same  method.  Egotism  in  poetry  and  in 
philosophy  meets  us  everywhere.  The  splendid  mental 
qualities  often  exercised  in  both  redeem  them  from  the 


124  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

his  mind,  for  a  period  of  twenty  years,  and  not  blunder 
upon  some  opinion  about  it,  correct  or  erroneous.  He 
loes  not  appear  to  know,  that  his  unformed  notions  on 
this  point,  so  far  as  they  can  be  reduced  to  formulas,  lead 
directly  to  fatalism. 

l^at  the  great  defect  of  Mr.  James  as  a  novelist  is  hi? 
lack  of  skill  in  the  creation  or  accurate  delineation  of 
individual  character.  If  the  novel  be  intended  as  a 
mirror  of  actual  life,  either  past  or  present,  it  should  con- 
tain not  only  events,  but  men  and  women.  Character 
should  be  exhibited,  not  didactically,  but  dramatically. 
We  deimand  human  beings,  —  not  embodied  antitheses, 
or  personified  qualities,  thoughts  or  passions.  The  author 
has  no  right  to  project  himself  into  his  characters,  and 
give  difTerent  proper  names  to  one  personality.  We 
want  a  forcible  conception  and  consistent  development 
of  individual  minds,  with  traits  and  peculiarities  which 
constitute  their  distinction  from  other  minds.  They 
should  be  drawn  with  sufficient  distinctness  to  enable 
the  reader  to  give  them  a  place  in  his  memory,  and  to 
detect  all  departures,  either  in  language  or  action,  from 
the  original  types.  We  desire  beings,  not  ideas ;  some- 
thing concrete,  not  abstract. 

To  fulfil  this  condition  seems  easy ;  but  the  scarcity 
of  men  and  women  in  current  romances  and  plays  proves 
that  it  is  both  difficult  and  indispensable.  A  wide  range 
of  characterization  is  very  rarely  found,  even  in  the 
works  of  men  of  genius,  or  rather  men  with  genius. 
Byron's  power  in  this  respect  only  extended  to  one  char- 
acter, and  that  was  his  own,  placed  in  difierent  circum 
(Stances,  and  modified  by  varying  impulses.  When  he 
aimed  at  a  larger  range,  and  attempted  to  give  freshness 
and  life  to  individual  creations,  the  result  was  feebleness 


James's  novels.  125 

riid  failure,  which  the  energy  and  splendor  of  his  diction 
could  not  wholly  conceal.  Manfred,  Childe  Harold,  and 
Don  Juan,  are  the  diflferent  names  of  one  mind.  Shak- 
speare's  Timon  comprehends  them  all,  and  is  also  more 
naturally  drawn.  Iimumerable  instances  might  be  given 
of  strenuous  attempts  made  in  this  ditFicult  department, 
which  have  ended  in  ignominious  failure.  Dr.  Young's 
Zanga  and  Shiel's  Pescara  are  ideas  and  passions  embod- 
ied,    lago  is  a  man,  possessing  ideas  and  passions. 

In  truth,  to  be  successful  in  the  exact  delineation  of 
character,  requires  a  rare  combination  of  powers,  —  a 
large  heart  and  a  comprehensive  mind.  It  is  the  attri- 
bute of  universality,  not  of  versatility,  or  subtilty.  It 
can  be  obtained  only  by  outward,  as  well  as  inward,  ob- 
servation. That  habit  of  intense  brooding  over  individ- 
ual consciousness,  of  making  the  individual  mind  the 
centre  and  circumference  of  everything,  which  is  com- 
mon to  many  eminent  poets  of  the  present  age,  has 
turned  most  of  them  into  egotists,  and  limited  the  reach 
of  their  minds.  They  are  great  in  a  narrow  sphere. 
They  have  little  of  that  catholicity  of  spirit  w'hich  is 
even  "tolerant  to  opposite  bigotries;"  which  seeks  to 
display  men  as  they  are,  not  as  they  may  be,  or  ought 
to  be ;  which  is  not  fanatical  for  one  idea,  and  seeks  not 
to  be  considered  as  the  one  inhabitant  of  the  whole  earth. 
Most  of  our  great  poets  of  the  present  century  have  taken 
the  world  into  their  hands,  and  made  it  over  again, 
agreeably  to  a  type  of  e.xcellence  in  their  own  imagina- 
tions. The  current  subjective  metaphysics  of  the  day 
pursues  the  same  method.  Egotism  in  poetry  and  in 
philosophy  meets  us  everywhere.  The  splendid  mental 
qualities  often  exercised  in  both  redeem  them  from  the 


126  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

censure  we  apply  to  meaner  and  smaller  attempts  in  the 
same  one-sided,  subjective  method. 

Not  in  this  manner  did  Shakspeare  work.  It  was  not 
from  a  lack  of  imagination  that  he  did  not  turn  every- 
thing that  he  touched  into  "  something  rich  and  strange. " 
His  excursions  into  the  land  of  dream  and  fancy  throw 
all  others  into  the  shade.  But  he  knew  when  and  where 
outward  men  and  events  should  modify  inward  aspira- 
tions and  feelings.  He  would  not  do  injustice  even  to 
crime  or  folly,  but  represented  both  as  they  are.  In 
what  may  be  called  the  creation  of  character,  in  distinc- 
tion from  its  delineation,  as  in  Hamlet,  Macbeth,  and 
Lear,  his  excellence  is  unapproachable.  In  no  other 
department  in  which  the  human  intellect  can  be  exer- 
cised, does  it  so  nearly  approach  the  divine,  as  in  this. 
It  is  creation  in  the  highest  human  sense  of  the  term. 
It  takes  the  elements  of  humanity,  and  combines  them 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  produce  a  new  individual,  essen- 
tially different  from  other  beings,  yet  containing  nothing 
which  clashes  with  the  principles  of  human  nature. 
Who  believes  that  a  character  exactly  like  Macbeth  or 
Miranda  ever  existed  ;  yet  who  ever  thought  they  were 
unnatural  ?  In  fact,  these  ideal  beings  are  as  true  exist- 
ences to  tlie  soul,  as  any  friends  or  enemies  whom  we 
see  bodily.  They  are  more  real  than  most  of  the  names 
of  persons  which  we  read  in  history.  We  quote  their 
sayings,  and  refer  to  their  actions,  as  if  they  were  living 
beings.  They  are  objects  to  us  of  love  or  hate.  We 
take  sides  for  or  against  them,  in  all  their  principles  and 
actions.     We  forget  the  author  in  his  creations. 

The  delineation  of  character,  in  which  observation, 
reflection  and  imagination,  are  variously  exercised,  is 
also  a  high  merit  in  a  poet  or  novelist.     English  litera- 


James's  novels.  127 

ture  ran  boast  many  authors  who  have  evinced  great 
skill  in  the  use  of  this  power,  and  it  is  indispensable  to 
the  novelist  of  real  life.  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  Par- 
son Adams,  Squire  Western,  Rob  Roy,  Baillie  Nicol 
Jarvie,  and  Tony  Weller,  are  names  taken  at  random, 
but  they  are  all  living  beings.  They  are  our  friends 
from  the  moment  we  make  their  acquaintance.  Has 
Mr.  James  added  one  to  this  company  ?  Has  he  delin- 
eated a  single  character  which  is  wedded  to  our  mem- 
ories ?  Yet  few  authors  have  written  more  novels ; 
and  his  volumes  are  filled  with  more  names  of  per- 
sons than  would  suffice  for  a  chronological  table  to  a 
universal  history. 

He  has  certain  types  of  character,  which  he  generally 
reproduces  in  each  successive  novel.  And  here  we  would 
do  Mr,  James  complete  justice.  He  has  an  exact  sense 
of  moral  distinctions,  and  his  personages,  though  not 
strictly  individual?,  are  walking  essays  on  character,  re- 
plete with  instruction,  and  displaying  some  analytical 
skill.  His  hero  is  generally  brave,  loving,  noble  in 
mind  and  heart,  combining  reflection  with  action ;  and  is 
a  fit  model  for  imitation,  if  we  except  the  number  of  men 
he  slays  in  the  course  of  the  story.  As  he  does  this, 
however,  in  a  perfectly  chivalrous  way,  and  is  justified 
in  it  by  the  usages  of  the  times  in  which  he  is  supposed 
to  live,  we  hardly  think  that  even  the  peace  societies 
would  take  much  exception  to  the  practice.  The  moral 
tone  of  thought  and  action  is  generally  high  and  true. 
The  heroine  is  always  idealized  into  something  which 
is  neither  spirit  nor  flesh  and  blood.  We  perceive  that 
the  author  has  an  exalted  feeling  of  the  beauty  of 
woiiidn's  character,  and  has  a  desire  to  represent  it  in 
the  concrete,  so  that  it  will  strike  forcibly  upon  the  heart. 


128  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

and  be  garnered  in  the  memory ;  but  he  fails  in  his  pur- 
pose. His  women,  like  his  men,  are  ideas  and  feelings 
embodied.  They  are  constructed,  not  created,  or  painted ; 
built,  not  drawn.  They  do  not  stand  boldly  from  the 
canvas.  They  are,  to  our  minds,  reflections  on  female 
character,  like  those  we  read  in  the  "  Rambler."  We 
are  told  by  the  author  that  they  act,  suffer,  love,  and 
hate ;  but  we  do  not  find  it  out  for  ourselves.  His 
heroine  is  so  beatified  with  description,  that  she  loses 
all  hold  upon,  sympathy.  Di  Vernon  and  Jeanie  Deans 
whisper  in  our  hearts  that  she  does  not  strictly  belong 
to  the  sex.  She  is  a  beautiful  icicle,  flushed  with  the 
sun's  tints,  and  having  the  appearance,  but  not  the 
reality,  of  warmth.  She  is  a  frail,  delicate,  lovely, 
unreal  creature,  whom  we  praise  and  admire,  as  we  do 
all  that  is  good  and  beautiful.  We  hope  that  she  will 
get  safely  through  all  her  troubles  —  that  her  health 
will  not  be  injured  by  mental  distress  or  outward 
accident  —  and  that  she  will  in  the  end  be  happily  mar- 
ried. She  is  "  A  Young  Lady's  Guide,"  walldng  "  from 
the  covers." 

Now,  all  this,  we  repeat,  is  "  from  the  purpose  "  of 
novel- writing.  If  we  compare  one  of  Mr.  James's  hero- 
ines either  with  a  fine  creation,  like  Desdemona,  or  a 
natural  delineation,  like  Sophia  Western,  or  a  purely 
ideal  portrait,  like  Shelley's  Cythna,  we  perceive  that 
he  fails  in  each  and  every  department  of  the  creation 
and  portraiture  of  character.  She  is  neither  the  reality 
nor  the  possibility  of  woman. 

Connected  with  these  names  of  good  persons,  there  is 
generally  a  scoundrel.  The  mechanical  nature,  of  Mr 
James's  mind  is  shown  in  the  construction  of  his  wickea 
personages,  more  than  in  anything  else.     His  rascal  is 


James's  novels.  129 

an  unmitigated  rascal.  He  takes  the  idea  of  a  man  with 
a  sharp  intellect  and  great  capacity,  whose  whole  nature 
is  under  the  dominion  of  selfish  passion,  —  gives  the 
idea  a  name,  and  intermingles  it  with  the  niachi)iery  of 
his  plot.  This  criminal  appears  regularly  in  ever' 
novel,  and  labors  assiduously  to  overthrow  the  hero  and 
heroine.  He  is  something  like  Gammon,  in  "  Ten 
Thousand  a  Year."  He  has  the  advantage  over  good 
ness  until  nearly  the  end  of  the  volume,  and  is  then 
dismissed  to  proper  punishment.  This  type  of  charac- 
ter is  the  most  forcible  of  the  author's  attempts ;  but 
Eashleigh  Osbiildistone,  or  Varney,  throws  it  into  the 
shade.  Whenever  Mr.  James  aims  to  draw  humorous 
persons,  to  fill  in  the  spaces  of  his  narrative,  he  nevei 
succeeds.  He  cannot  even  make  them  say  witty  or 
humorous  things. 

We  might  extend  these  remarks  to  other  personages 
in  our  auilior's  novels  ;  but  it  is  needless.  If  we  are 
correct  in  the  view  we  have  taken,  it  is  proved  that  Mr. 
James,  in  several  high  qualities  of  romance,  is  deficient. 
Yet  he  is  compared,  by  many  of  his  admirers,  with  Scott. 
Their  reasoning  to  support  so  singular  a  conjunction 
must  be  drawn  from  the  stores  of  honest  Fluellen.  Mr. 
James  chooses  historical  events  as  the  basis  or  auxiliary 
of  his  plot,  and  pours  forth  novels  as  other  men  do 
essays;  Sir  Walter  Scott  did  the  same;  therefore,  they 
bear  a  surprising  resemblance  to  each  other  as  novelists. 
This  is  the  old  argument ;  "  There  is  a  mountain  in 
Wales,  and  there  is  a  mountain  in  Macedon."  In  truth, 
no  two  writers  have  less  in  common,  in  the  essentials  of 
their  art,  than  Scott  and  James.  Scott's  marvellous 
lange  of  character,  the  fertility  with  which  lie  created  or 
painted  individual  beings,  his  genial  sympathy  with 
9 


130  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

liis  race,  his  remarkable  objectivity  of  mind,  his  open 
sense  to  all  outward  objects,  would  alone  constitute  a 
great  gulf  between  him  and  James.  He  did  not  repeat 
himself  in  his  novels.  He  wrote  fast,  because  his  mind 
produced  quickly.  In  the  poorest  of  his  novels,  he 
always  gives  us  some  characters  whom  we  ever  remem- 
ber with  pleasure.  Mr.  James's  knowledge  of  history, 
great  as  it  is,  and  much  as  he  draws  upon  it,  is  used 
without  any  of  the  peculiar  power  of  imagination  with 
which  Scott  gave  life  and  hue  to  what  were  before 
mere  names,  and  made  his  readers  contemporaries  with 
the  past.  A  king,  a  man-at-arms,  or  a  tournament, 
delineated  by  the  author  of  "  Waverley,"  is  presented  to 
our  minds  as  vividly  as  real  personages  or  events  which 
have  passed  before  our  own  eyes.  To  this  pictorial 
imagination  Mr.  James  has  little  claim.  He  gives  to 
his  scenes  the  vividness  of  history,  not  that  of  reality 
or  romance. 

A  writer  who  chooses  great  subjects  and  personages 
for  his  theme  often  obtains  that  rank  in  general  estima- 
tion which  should  be  held  only  by  those  who  treat  them 
with  eminent  ability.  Mr.  James  is  considered  by 
many  to  be  a  greater  man  than  Mr.  Dickens,  because  he 
delineates  kings  and  nobles  ;  describes  battles  ;  shows  a 
minute  acquaintance  with  history ;  makes  all  his  charac- 
ters mathematically  moral  or  immoral;  strains  ever  to 
obtain  a  certain  stilted  elevation  of  thought  and  senti- 
ment; is  careful  never  to  wound  the  most  fastidious 
delicacy  with  any  words  which  may  convey  or  suggest 
unpleasant  and  vulgar  images  ;  and  speculates  dubiously 
on  government,  nature,  the  arts,  religion  and  destiny. 
We  are  quite  sick  of  hearing  him  praised  for  his 
attempts,  instead  of  being  judged  by  his  execution.     One 


James's  novels.  131 

>f  Mr.  Dickens's  coachmen  is  more  worthy  of  admiration 
dian  one  of  Mr.  James's  kings.  A  cardinal,  or  a  pope 
may  be  a  loftier  personage  than  a  poor  parish  priest ;  to 
delineate  the  former,  "  from  the  heart  outwards,  and  not 
from  the  flesh  inwards,"  may  be  a  greater  triumph  of  art 
than  to  succeed  in  portraying  the  latter ;  but  still  Parson 
Adams  "  bears  the  gree  "  from  all  the  clerical  dignitaries 
of  romance.  The  nature  of  the  man  should  not  be  con- 
founded with  his  name  or  his  garb.  To  call  a  person- 
age a  bishop,  and  to  represent  him  in  the  dress  of  his 
order,  is  not  to  delineate  a  bishop.  Beneath  all  exter- 
nals, there  are  a  human  heart  and  brain,  and  an  individ- 
uality distinguishing  him  from  every  other  bishop.  To 
exhibit  him  dramatically,  either  in  play  or  novel,  it  is 
indispensable  that  these  characteristics  should  be  pre- 
served. 

It  may  be  asked,  why  it  is,  if  Mr.  James  is  thus  defi- 
cient in  the  higher  qualities  of  the  novelist,  that  his 
worlcs  are  so  popular.  Are  they  not  read  and  admired 
by  thousands  ?  They  are  read,  admired,  and  forgotten. 
They  are  not  read  a  second  time.  By  the  time  one  has 
passed  from  the  memory,  another  flows  into  it,  which,  in 
its  turn,  gives  place  to  a  third.  No  characters  or  inci- 
dents adhere  to  the  mind,  and  become  to  it  a  possession 
forever.  After  we  have  studied  them  all,  we  find  that 
they  have  only  given  us  general  ideas,  or  furnished  us 
with  historical  knowledge.  We  love  and  remember  none 
of  his  personages  for  themselves  alone.  They  are  all 
insensibly  resolved  into  their  original  abstractions.  We 
recollect  one  of  his  few  types  of  character,  as  we 
remember  a  proposition  in  Combe's  Constitution  of  Man. 

But  '\i  may  still  be  asked.  Whence  comes  it  that  his 
novels  are  read  at  all  ?     We  might  here  avail  ourselves 


133 


ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 


of  a  New  England  privilege,  and  answer  this  questiott 
with  another  equally  pertinent:  Why  are  the  produc- 
tions of  fanaticism,  quackery,  bad  taste,  and  sentimen- 
tality read  ?  Why  do  melodramas  draw  larger  audiences 
than  Macbeth  ?  But  we  have  no  wish  to  evade  difficul- 
ties by  insisting  strongly  on  the  rights  derived  from  our 
local  position.  We  answer,  therefore,  by  acknowledging, 
that,  though  the  test  of  merit  is  not  success,  yet  there 
must  be  some  reason  in  the  construction  of  a  popular 
book  to  account  for  its  popularity  ;  and,  in  Mr,  James's 
case,  this  public  favor  is  owing  to  the  intricacy  and  inter- 
est of  his  plots. 

The  incidents  in  his  novels  are  brought  together  with 
much  cunning  skill.  Every  person  who  begins  one  of 
his  books  desires  to  get  through  it  as  quickly  as  possible. 
To  many  this  may  appear  the  highest  praise,  and  to  set- 
tle the  question  at  once.  To  us  it  appears  to  do  no  such 
thing.  Although  the  power  of  creating  incident,  and  of 
skilfully  Jinking  one  event  to  another,  is  an  important 
element  of  a  good  novel,  yet  it  is  not  the  most  important, 
nor  is  it  one  in  which  Mr.  James  enjoys  preeminence. 
When  we  discover  the  secret  of  his  method  of  story- 
building,  our  admiration  decreases  greatly.  We  ac- 
knowledge that  his  novels  are  interesting,  that  they 
awaken  and  fix  attention ;  but  we  discriminate  between 
the  kind  of  interest  they  excite,  and  the  interest  of  "  Tom 
Jones  "  or  "  Ivanhoe."  We  perceive  that  his  plots  are 
pieces  of  machinery,  constructed  according  to  the  laws 
of  mathematics.  Their  intricacy,  and  not  their  natural- 
ness, is  the  source  of  their  hold  upon  our  minds.  The 
characters  seem  not  to  have  free  play.  They  are  pup- 
pets, moved  by  the  scheming  brain  of  the  author.  We 
know  that  the  hero  and  the  heroine  will  enjoy  no  felicity 


James's  novels.  133 

or  peace  until  the  conclusion  of  the  third  volume,  and 
we  hasten  to  the  consummation  as  fast  as  our  eyes  can 
carry  us.  The  world  to  which  we  are  introduced  is  not 
a  free,  common  world,  where  there  are  chances  in  favor 
both  of  vice  and  virtue,  but  a  fenced  park,  full  of  man- 
traps and  spring-guns.  A  sort  of  iron  necessity  conducts 
everything.  We  do  not  feel  ourselves  safe,  until  we 
have  come  to  the  conclusion.  A  sort  of  feverish,  un- 
healthy excitement  is  the  feeling  we  experience  as  we 
read.  There  is  always  some  murder,  forgery,  or  other 
dark  crime,  in  the  past  or  the  future,  which  we  have  a 
natural  desire  to  expose  and  punish.  The  good  charac- 
ters are  entangled  in  such  a  web  of  evil ;  there  is  such  a 
provoking  succession  of  premeditated  accidents  which 
seem  untoward ;  they  are  walking  so  long  on  the  verge 
of  a  deep  gulf,  into  which  the  slightest  false  step  may 
precipitate  them  ;  that  our  feelings  of  philanthropy  are 
enlisted  in  their  behalf,  and  the  common  axioms  which 
forbid  cruelty  to  animals  impel  us  to  wish  them  speedy 
death  or  happiness. 

Mr.  James  is  also  a  spendthrift  of  human  life.  When 
he  has  done  with  a  character,  or  thinks  it  necessary  to 
enhance  the  interest  of  his  story  by  something  awful,  he 
strikes  his  pen  into  one  of  his  dramatis  personce,  without 
the  slightest  mercy,  and  literally  blots  him  from  exis- 
tence. He  knows  well  that  nmrder  and  violence  are 
popular  in  romance,  and  he  is  desirous,  like  a  sagacious 
book  merchant,  to  make  the  supply  equal  to  the  demand. 
Whether  he  has  any  compunctious  visitings  of  con- 
science, after  gratifying,  in  this  maimer,  his  murderous 
thoughts,  we  are  unable  to  determine ;  but  we  think  the 
carelessness  with  which  he  slays  evinces  the  feebleness 
with  which  he  conceives.     If  his  personages  w;re  reaJ 


134  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

to  his  own  heart  or  imagination,  if  they  were  anything 
more  than  clothed  ideas  and  passions,  we  doubt  if  he 
would  part  with  them  so  easily,  or  kill  them  with  such 
7ionchala7ice.  His  hero,  of  course,  is  preserved  amidst 
the  general  slaughter,  but  not  without  many  wounds 
both  of  the  body  and  spirit. 

We  have  heard  the  style  of  Mr.  James  praised,  but 
on  what  principle  of  taste  we  could  never  discover.  To 
us  it  seems  but  ill  adapted  to  narrative.  It  has  little 
flow  and  perspicuity,  and  no  variety.  It  is  usually 
heavy,  lumbering,  and  monotonous.  His  sentences 
seem  constructed  painfully,  yet  doggedly,  and  not  to 
spring  spontaneously  from  his  brain,  inspired  by  the 
thought  or  feeling  they  are  intended  to  convey.  Half 
of  the  words  seem  in  the  way  of  the  idea,  and  the  latter 
appears  not  to  have  strength  enough  to  clear  the  passage. 
Occasionally  a  swift,  sharp  sentence  comes,  like  a  flash 
of  lightning,  from  the  cloud  of  his  verbiage,  and  relieves 
the  twilight  of  his  diction  ;  but  generally  the  reader 
must  plod  laboriously  through  one  of  his  volumes,  and, 
if  he  can  overlook  the  style  in  the  incidents,  it  is  all  the 
better  for  his  patience.  James  has  none  of  that  wonder- 
ful power  of  clear  narration  which  we  observe  in  Scott ; 
that  ductile  style,  which  changes  with  each  change  in 
the  story,  and  seems  insensibly  to  mould  itself  into  the 
Ghape  of  the  thought  and  emotion  which  are  uppermost 
at  the  time.  Nor  has  he  any  of  that  quiet,  demure  hu- 
mor, which  Scott  often  infuses  into  the  very  heart  of  his 
diction,  as  in  the  first  hundred  pages  of  "  Redgauntlet." 
There  is  a  strait-laced  gravity  in  Mr.  James's  manner, 
which  is  often  ridiculous,  because  wholly  inappropriate 
[n  all  those  higher  qualities  of  style,  which  do  not  relate 
to  the  mere  rhetorical  arrangement  ot  words  and  sea- 


James's  novels.  135 

tences,  but  spring  directly  from  passion,  fancy,  or  imagi- 
nation, and  bear  the  impress  of  the  writer's  nature,  he  is 
very  deficient.  There  are  but  few  felicitous  passages  in 
liis  manifold  volumes.  He  has  hardly  any  of  those 
happy  combinations  of  words,  which  stick  fast  to  the 
1  icmory,  and  do  more  than  pages  to  express  the  author's 
/.leaning.  With  all  his  command  of  a  certain  kind  of 
vjlegant  language,  he  has  little  command  of  expression. 
His  imagination,  as  a  shaping  power,  has  either  no  exist- 
ence, or  he  writes  too  rapidly  to  allow  it  time  to  perform 
its  office.  His  imagery  is  common;  and  his  manner  of 
arraying  a  trite  figure  in  a  rich  suit  of  verbiage,  only 
makes  its  essential  commonness  and  poverty  more  evi- 
dent. His  style  is  not  dotted  over  with  any  of  those 
shining  points,  either  of  imagery  or  epigram,  which  illu- 
mine works  of  less  popularity  and  pretension.  To  us 
liis  temperament  seems  sluggish,  and  is  only  kindled 
into  energy  by  the  most  fiery  stimulants.  "A  slow,  roll- 
ing grandiloquence  "  seems  his  rhetorical  ideal,  and  he 
does  not  always  succeed  in  attaining  even  that  humble 
height  of  expression.  As  his  object,  however,  seems  to 
be  to  fill  out  three  volumes  with  a  narration  of  incidents 
vhich  will  please,  rather  than  to  cultivate  any  of  those 
qualities  of  condensation  and  picturesqueness  which 
Avould  compress  them  into  one,  we  may  not  be  justified 
in  interfering  between  him  and  his  bookseller. 

In  these  remarks  we  do  not  intend  to  say  that  our 
novelist  has  no  passages  wliich  clash  with  this  opinion 
of  his  style.  It  would  be  a  monstrous  supposition,  that 
a  human  being  could  possibly  wiite  a  hundred  volumes, 
without  being  betrayed  at  tiines  into  eloquence  and 
beauty  of  expression.  We  refer,  in  our  strictures,  to 
general  traits,  not  to  individual  exceptions;  to  tlie  desert, 


136  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS, 

and  not  to  the  oases  in  it.  Mr.  James  evidently  pos 
sesses  talent  sufficiently  great  to  enable  him  to  write 
well,  if  he  could  only  learn  to  "  labor  and  to  wait;"  but 
he  is  cursed  with  the  mania  of  book-making,  and  seems 
to  look  more  to  the  number  of  his  pages  than  to  the 
quality  of  his  rhetoric. 

In  these  remarks  on  Mr.  James,  as  a  novelist,  we  have 
intended  to  do  him  no  injustice.  We  are  willing  to 
grant  him  the  praise  of  talents  and  learning,  and  to  do 
fit  honor  to  the  moral  purpose  he  seems  to  have  in  his 
writings.  But  we  dispute  his  claim  to  those  qualities 
which  constitute  the  chief  excellence  of  a  novelist ;  we 
doubt  his  possession  of  that  fecundity  of  mind  which 
can  produce  a  series  of  novels  without  constant  repeti- 
tion of  old  types  of  character,  and  old  machinery  of 
plot.  If  the  severity  of  our  criticism  has  ever  run  into 
fanciful  exaggeration,  it  has  been  owing  to  the  petulant 
humor  engendered  by  exposing  unfounded  pretension. 

Indeed,  Mr.  James  does  not  appear  like  a  man  who 
could  be  wounded  or  hurt  by  severe  criticism.  The 
abstract  character  of  the  personages  of  his  novels  affects 
our  own  view  of  himself.  We  oppose  him  as  we  would 
oppose  an  idea  or  a  principle.  We  do  not  consider  him 
as  an  individual.  Our  imagination  refuses  to  shape  the 
idea  suggested  by  his  name  into  a  palpable  person. 
Whenever  an  author  appears  to  our  mind  in  a  con- 
crete form,  the  quality  of  mercy  we  extend  to  his  com- 
positions is  never  "strained."  We  feel  for  his  pardon- 
able vanity,  and  we  would  launch  at  him  no  sarcasm 
calculated  to  lacerate  his  delicate  sensibilities.  He  is  a 
human  being,  a  brother,  or,  at  least,  a  cousin.  If  he  be 
a  fbmce,  we  pat  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  tell  him  to  try 
again.     If  he  be  a  man  of  talents,  with  some  absurd  oi 


James's  novels.  137 

pernicious  principles,  we  regret  that  the  latter  should 
weaken  the  respect  we  bear  to  the  former.  But  not  so 
is  it  with  Mr.  James.  We  no  more  think  of  hurting  his 
feelings  by  sharp  criticism,  than  of  wounding  the  sensi- 
bility of  Babbage's  calculating  machine  by  detecting  it 
in  a  mathematical  error.  To  us  he  is  a  thin  essence, 
impenetrable  to  the  weapons  of  earthly  combat,  and 
unmoved  by  any  hail-storm  of  satire  which  might 
seem  to  beat  on  his  frame.  He  is  an  abstraction,  and, 
therefore,  the  last  person  to  expect  that  a  reviewer  will 
hide  the  thorns  of  analysis  in  the  flowers  of  paneg^  :ic. 


SYDNEY   SMITH.* 

Few  persons  on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic  are  igno* 
rant  of  the  name  of  the  Rev.  Sydney  Smith,  the  wit,  the 
whig,  the  Edinburgh  reviewer,  and  the  holder  of  Penn- 
sylvania bonds.  But  if  we  except  his  lately  published 
"  Letters  on  American  Debts,"  his  name  is  more  familiar 
than  his  writings.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  surprise,  that 
the  brilliant  petulance  and  grotesque  severity  of  the 
"  Letters "  did  not  win  him  many  admirers  in  the 
United  States.  The  fact  that  they  insulted  our  na-. 
tional  pride,  and  were  unjust  and  sweeping  in  their 
censures,  was  sufficient  to  prevent  their  singular  merit, 
as  compositions,  from  being  acknowledged.  After  hav- 
ing withstood  all  the  falsehood  and  exaggeration  of  the 
London  press,  —  a  press  which,  in  the  sturdy  impudence 
with  which  it  retains  its  hold  upon  a  lie,  excels  all  others 
in  the  world,  —  we  felt  irritated,  that  a  "pleasant  man 
had  come  out  against  us,"  with  the  expectation  that  we 
were  to  be  "  laid  low  by  a  joker  of  jokes."  A  more 
thorough  knowledge  of  Smith's  writings,  and  a  percep- 
tion of  the  ingrained  peculiarities  of  his  character,  would, 
we  think,  abate  much  of  the  grim  asperity  with  which 
we  received  that  specimen  of  his  nimble  wit  and  sarcas- 

*The  Works  of  the  Rev.  Sydney  Smith.  Second  edition.  In  three 
volumes.  London:  Longmans  &  Co.  8vo.  '840. — North,  American  Re^ 
view,  July,  1841. 


SYDNEY    SMITH.  139 

tic  rebukes.  If  we  knew  the  man,  we  should  see,  that 
to  return  an  acrimonious  answer  would  be  the  most 
ridiculous  of  all  possible  modes  of  retort.  While  he 
has  the  laugh  of  all  Europe  on  his  side,  from  London  to 
St.  Petersburg,  he  may  safely  defy  the  utmost  severity 
of  denunciation,  backed  by  the  most  labored  array  of 
facts.  Revenge  is  to  be  sought,  not  in  denouncing,  but 
in  quoting  him.  He  has  written  for  the  last  forty  years 
upon  the  affairs  of  England,  with  the  same  careless  dis- 
regard of  the  external  proprieties  of  literature,  and  the 
same  fearlessness  of  tone,  which  he  has  displayed  in  his 
censure  of  the  United  States  ;  but  as  the  offences  which 
prompt  strong  invective  have  been  far  more  numerous 
and  flagrant  in  his  own  country  than  in  ours,  the  bril- 
liancy and  bitterness  of  his  satire  have  never  appeared 
to  more  advantage  than  when  confined  to  home  scenes 
and  home  institutions.  His  hostility  to  us  arises  from 
pardonable  ignorance  and  personal  prejudice,  and  there- 
fore his  accusations  are  to  be  regarded  with  suspicion  : 
his  hostility  to  many  features  of  English  society  and 
English  law  sprung  from  his  conscience  and  personal 
knowledge,  and  may  be  received  with  confidence.  He 
has  always  been  a  strong  friend  of  liberal  principles,  and 
an  unflinching  and  merciless  enemy  to  fraud  and  cor- 
ruption. There  have  been,  in  the  present  centun,%  many 
able  Englishmen  who  have  made  injustice  and  bigotry 
appear  detestable ;  but  to  Sydney  Smith,  more  than  to 
any  other,  belongs  the  merit  of  making  them  appear 
ridiculous.  Placemen,  pedants,  hypocrites,  tories,  who 
:ould  doze  very  placidly  beneath  threats  and  curses, 
'retted  and  winced  at  the  sharp  sting  of  his  wit.  He 
.las  subjected  himself  to  charges  which  are  most  inju- 
rious to  a  clergyniau, — impropriety,  levity,  infidelity; 


140  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

he  has  allowed  his  opinions  to  stand  in  the  way  of  his 
professional  advancement,  rather  than  swerve  from  the 
principles  of  his  political  creed,  or  forbear  shooting  cut 
his  tongue  at  hypocrisy  and  selfishness. 

But  even  if  his  services  to  humanity  and  freedom  had 
not  given  him  the  privilege  to  be  a  little  saucy  to  repub- 
lics, the  individuality  of  his  character  would  screen  him 
from  the  indignation  we  feel  against  libellers  whose 
judgments  are  less  influenced  by  eccentric  humor.  We 
desire  to  learn  Sydney  Smith's  opinien  on  any  matter  of 
public  interest,  not  because  his  temper  of  mind  is  such 
as  to  give  it  intrinsic  weight,  but  because  we  know  it 
will  generally  be  shrewd,  honest,  independent,  peculiar 
in  its  conception,  and  racy  in  its  expression.  Almost 
everything  he  has  written  is  so  characteristic,  that  it 
would  be  difficult  to  attribute  it  to  any  other  man.  The 
marked  individual  features,  and  the  rare  combination  of 
powers,  displayed  in  his  works,  give  them  a  fascination, 
unconnected  with  the  subject  of  which  he  treats,  or  the 
general  correctness  of  his  views.  He  sometimes  hits  the 
mark  in  the  white,  he  sometimes  misses  it  altogether , 
for  he  by  no  means  confines  his  pen  to  themes  to  which 
he  is  calculated  to  do  justice ;  but  whether  he  hits  or 
misses,  he  is  always  sparkling  and  delightful.  The 
charm  of  his  writings  is  somewhat  similar  to  tliat  of 
Montaigne's  or  Charles  Lamb's,  —  a  charm  which  owes 
much  of  its  power  to  that  constant  intrusion  of  the 
writer's  individuality,  by  which  we  make  a  companion 
where  we  expected  to  find  only  a  book ;  and  this  com- 
panion, as  soon  as  we  understand  him,  becomes  one  of 
our  most  valued  acquaintances. 

The  familiarity  of  Sydney  Smith's  manner  does  not 
consist  merely  in  his  style ;  indeed,  the  terseness  and 


SYDNEY    SMITH.  141 

brilliancy  of  his  diction,  though  not  at  all  artificial  in 
appearance,  could  not  have  been  attained  without  labor 
and  solicitude  ;  —  but  it  is  the  result  of  the  blunt,  fear- 
less, severe,  yet  good-humored,  nature  of  the  man.  He 
gives  us  not  only  his  opinions,  but  himself;  he  allows 
us  to  see  all  the  nooks  and  crannies  of  his  heart  and 
understanding.  His  frankness  of  expression  is  a  glass 
wherein  his  whole  personality  is  mirrored.  He  does  not 
observe  any  of  those  literary  conventionalties  which  dis- 
tinguish a  writer  from  his  book.  His  peculiarity  in  this 
respect  is  the  more  worthy  of  notice,  as  it  is  so  rare. 
He  possesses,  more  than  any  other  author  of  the  present 
century,  the  faculty  of  talking  in  printed  sheets. 

The  difference  between  the  tone  and  character  of  liter- 
ature and  of  social  life  is  worthy  of  more  attention  than 
it  generally  receives.  The  ignorance  of  those  who  are 
called  "book-men"  arises,  in  great  part,  from  a  disregard 
of  this  distinction.  Many  of  them  think  they  can  obtain 
a  knowledge  of  history  and  human  nature  by  haunting 
libraries ;  and  if  "  standard  "  histories  fairly  reflected 
events  and  persons,  and  standard  philosophies  gave  us 
man  instead  of  ethics  and  metaphysics,  they  would  not 
be  in  the  wrong.  But  this  is  not  the  case.  Before 
book"  can  be  rightly  interpreted,  a  knowledge  of  life  and 
affairs  is  necessary.  A  very  slight  acquaintance  with 
the  different  ranks  and  modes  of  society,  a  familiarity 
with  two  or  three  politicians  who  contribute  to  congres- 
sional or  parliamentary  debates,  a  little, companionship 
with  the  world's  rulers  jn  literature  and  government,  will 
soon  teach  us  the  difference  between  actions  and  the 
record  of  actions,  between  the  man  and  the  author.  We 
then,  to  some  extent,  see  the  world,  not  in  its  official 
costume,  but  in  nightgown  and  slippers.     The  dignitary 


142  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

whose  sonorous  sentences  caught  and  charmed  the  ear 
and  seemed  to  lift  him  above  the  weaknesses  of  human- 
ity, becomes  simply  a  man,  —  perhaps  a  prattler  or  a 
coxcomb.  Many  a  statesman,  whose  talk  is  garnished 
with  ribaldry  and  profanity,  and  who  utters  in  conversa- 
tion the  grossest  personalities  against  his  opponents,  no 
sooner  rises  to  make  an  oration,  than  his  whole  course 
of  speech  undergoes  a  change,  and  the  newspapers  inform 
us  of  the  grandeur  of  thought  which  characterized  what 
:s  justly  termed  his  "  effort."  A  state  document  is  often 
one  of  the  rarest  of  juggles.  Who  shall  say  what  false 
notions  we  obtain  of  governors  from  their  missives  and 
messages  ?  Who  can  calculate  what  a  vast  amount  of 
deception  and  quackery  is  hidden  in  the  jargon  of  official 
papers  and  legislative  enactments  ?  The  difference  be- 
tween Hume's  James  the  First  and  Scott's  King  Jamie, 
between  a  newspaper  report  of  a  public  dinner  and  that 
of  an  eye  and  ear  witness,  hardly  measures  the  difference 
between  a  dignitary  in  undress  and  a  dignitary  in  buck- 
ram. 

It  is  not  wonderful,  then,  that  our  notions  of  dignity 
are  somewhat  shocked  in  reading  an  author  who  is  not 
ashamed  to  write  what  he  is  not  ashamed  to  think,  who 
speaks  to  the  world  as  he  would  speak  to  his  immediate 
friends,  who  forces  his  meaning  into  no  conventional 
moulds,  but  gives  free  course  to  all  the  natural  and 
healthy  impulses  of  his  nature,  and  is  not  frightened  into 
feebleness  by  the  desire  of  "preserving  his  dignity." 
Indeed,  in  this  last  word  we  have  the  fundamental  prin- 
iiple  of  artificial  composition.  An  author  conceives  that 
he  must  be  dignified,  even  if  he  be  not  profound,  accu- 
rate, or  powerful.  The  pharisees  and  dolts  of  society 
find  the  term  a  convenient  substitute  for  evorvthing  val- 


SYDNEY    SMITH.  143 

oable  which  it  assumes  to  represent.  In  literature,  it  is 
the  last  refuge  of  mediocrity,  —  a  stilted  elevation,  oa 
which  tottering  debility  mumbles  barren  truisms. 

Now,  in  this  world,  it  is  more  important  that  we  obtain 
what  is  real  than  what  is  dignified.  Truth,  in  the  home- 
liest attire,  is  better  than  falsehood  in  balanced  periods. 
If  we  desire  to  know  the  condition  of  England  during 
the  last  century,  it  is  not  enough  that  we  read  grave 
histories  and  lying  laureate  odes.  Painfully  elaborated 
sentences,  aflecting  to  describe  battles,  sieges,  adminis- 
trations, —  nonsensical  impersonations  of  the  country 
under  the  names  of  Albion  and  Britannia,  cannot  give 
us  the  vivid  pictures  of  government  and  society  which 
we  find  painted  to  the  life  in  the  novels  of  Fielding  and 
Smollett.  In  the  latter,  we  see  the  vulgarity,  the  selfish- 
ness, the  cruelty,  the  ignorance,  the  vice,  the  clashing 
opinions,  the  manners  or  the  want  of  manners,  both  of 
men  in  authority,  and  men  in  subjection.  The  rough, 
sturdy  virtues  of  the  English  people,  likewise,  essentially 
different  from  those  ascribed  to  them  in  orations,  are 
made  apparent,  amid  all  the  exaggeration  and  caricature 
of  romance.  Dickens's  novels  are  more  faithful  repre- 
sentations of  England  at  the  present  day  than  can  be 
obtained  from  parliamentary  debates  and  reports  of  com- 
mittees. Dr.  Johnson's  conversation,  it  is  known,  was 
pointed,  vigorous,  and  racy  ;  but  it  has  been  said,  that, 
when  he  wrote,  he  translated  his  ideas  into  Johnsonese. 
The  feelings,  thoughts,  and  characters  of  men  are  apt  to 
pass  through  a  similar  process,  when  forced  to  take  form 
in  written  compositions.  The  distinction  made  by  the 
old  philosophers  between  their  esoteric  and  exoteric  doc- 
trines, their  doctrines  for  the  few  and  their  doctrines  for 
the  many,  is  still  preserved  among  politicians  and  his- 


144  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

torians.  The  dite,  who  are  in  the  confidence  and  com 
pany  of  the  latter,  receive  very  different  ideas  of  gov 
ernment  and  life  from  what  they  find  written  in  public 
documents. 

Now,  Sydney  Smith  has  no  regard  whatever  for  the 
smooth  decencies  and  accredited  proprieties  of  expres- 
sion. He  seems  to  have  obtained  a  glance  behind  the 
curtain  of  affairs,  to  have  seen  Avith  how  little  wisdom 
and  how  great  hypocrisy  the  world  is  governed,  and  to 
have  been  unable  to  keep  the  secret.  He  introduces  the 
world  to  itself,  and  enables  men  to  view  the  Grand 
Lamas  of  authority  and  opinion  before  whom  they 
cringe.  He  is  the  very  opposite  of  the  class  of  dignified 
writers  we  have  been  considering.  He  hardly  acquiesces 
in  the  harmless  deceptions  of  language  and  manner. 
He  has  an  inextinguishable  contempt  for  every  shape 
and  shade  of  what  is  called  humbug.  He  does  not  seem 
to  think  that  an  essay  for  the  Edinburgh  Review  should 
differ  at  all,  in  tone  and  style,  from  the  talk  of  a  plain, 
honest,  intelligent  man  at  his  own  fireside.  Even  those 
stilts  which  the  simplest  writers  employ,  to  distinguish 
between  their  conversation  and  composition,  and  to  give 
to  their  opinions  a  general  rather  than  an  individual 
character,  he  kicks  away  from  him  with  the  careless 
spurn  of  contempt.  He  never  writes  without  having 
something  to  say,  and  sees  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
say  it  just  as  it  is  felt  and  conceived.  The  external 
forms  of  literature,  the  hollow  civilities  and  ceremonies 
of  legislative  assemblies,  the  insipid  formulas  of  expres- 
sion, which  obtain  in  social  life  under  the  names  of  polite- 
ness and  gentility,  he  violates  or  ridicules  without  the 
slightest  fear  of  male  or  female  prudes.  He  never  would 
call  a  member  of  congress  "  honorable  "  by  courtesy. 


SYDNEY    SMITH. 


145 


No  mips  of  f-tiqnottc  hridlc  his  wit  or  his  whims.  No 
fear  of  being  called  an  egotist  or  a  scofler,  no  apprehen- 
sion of  misapprehension,  prevents  him  from  indulging 
the  fall  bent  of  his  peculiaritieG.  If  a  certain  dress  or 
manner  has  been  long  considered  the  distinctive  sign  of 
a  profession,  he  delights  to  make  it  the  mark  of  his 
mocking  gibes.  Though  a  clergyman  himself,  he  has 
no  veneration  for  any  of  the  external  badges  of  his  class. 
To  him,  there  is  no  sanctity  attaching  to  a  sermon  by 
virtue  of  its  name  and  form;  but  he  judges  it  as  he 
would  any  other  composition.  If  it  be  dull,  pedantic,  or 
fanatical,  if  it  inculcate  tyranny  and  justify  oppression,  if 
it  employ  the  phraseology  of  religion  to  cover  the  prac- 
tices of  fraud,  he  treats  it  with  no  more  courtesy  than 
if  it  were  the  latest  offspring  of  Grub-street.  He  sees 
something  more  than  wigs  and  surplices.  He  never 
takes  the  outward  sign  for  the  thing  signified.  No 
writer  is  less  under  the  vassalage  of  names.  Piety  has, 
in  his  mind,  no  absolute  connection  with  priests,  morality 
none  with  moralists,  government  none  with  governors, 
liberty  none  with  radicals,  law  none  with  judges.  It  is 
evident  that  such  a  writer  must  be  continually  disturb- 
ing the  associations  of  his  readers.  His  independence  is 
to  be  honored ;  for  though  such  distinctions  are  apparent 
to  reason,  it  often  requires  much  courage  to  practise 
upor.  them  in  life,  and  still  more  to  practise  upon  thcna 
in  composition. 

This  frank  sincerity  of  Sydney  Smith  gives  a  fresh 
ness,  vivacity,  and  individuality  to  his  compositions, 
which  never  fail  to  please,  even  when  his  subjects  are 
unpromising.  He  is  to  other  essayists  what  Herodotus 
is  to  other  historians.  We  are  conducted  to  no  sublime 
heights  of  abstraction,  we  are  plunged  into  no  sub'ime 
10 


148  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

depths  of  sentiment;  but  we  jog  along  a  plea^^ant  road, 
listening  to  the  talk  of  a  pleasant  man,  and  detecting 
meaning  even  in  his  mirth,  and  wisdom  even  in  his 
oddities.  As  soon  as  he  conies  to  speak  of  social  or 
political  wrong,  we  find  he  can  smite  as  well  as  smile 
He  neither  talks  about  the  inherent  rights  of  man,  nor 
philosophizes  about  liberty  ;  indeed,  he  rather  laughs  at 
that,  as  moonshine ;  but  he  strikes  directly  at  the  thing 
itself,  in  obedience  to  the  quick  impulse  of  his  heart 
With  a  fancy  teeming  with  images  to  illustrate  both  his 
reasoning  and  his  indignation,  he  is  never  deluded  by  it 
in  his  speculations  on  the  practical  affairs  of  the  world. 
He  writes  of  men  from  an  observation  of  their  manners 
and  conduct  in  daily  life,  and  never  idealizes  their  con- 
dition. He  refuses  to  abstract  his  notion  of  a  co'mtry 
from  the  people  who  compose  it.  John  Bull,  Jonathan, 
Sawney,  and  Paddy,  are  oftener  on  his  lips  than  Eng- 
land, America,  Scotland,  and  Ireland ;  and  as  for  Bri- 
tannia, Columbia,  Caledonia,  and  Hibernia,  they  find  no 
place  in  his  vocabulary,  except  when  they  can  minister 
to  his  drollery.  Great  Britain,  with  her  fleets,  and 
armies,  and  possessions,  on  whose  dominions  the  sun 
never  sets, 

"Whose  path  is  o'er  the  mountain  wave, 
Whose  home  is  on  liie  deep," 

is  a  grand  subject  for  the  sublime  abstractions  of  the 
orator  and  poet ;  but  Smith  dwells  snugly  in  the  con- 
crete. His  opinion  of  the  nation  is  formed  from  personal 
observation  of  the  people.  He  has  no  notion  of  flatter- 
ing gruff  John  Bull  with  dainty  names.  "  Beer  and 
Britannia  are  inseparable  ideas    in  the  mind  of  every 


SYDNEY    SMITH.  -47 

English n?an,"  he    tells    us  ;  and  in  telling  us  that,  he 
breaks  the  charm. 

In  the  various  articles  on  America,  contributed  to  the 
Edinburgh  Review,  the  only  points  on  which  he  lashes 
us  are  slavery  and  national  vanity,  —  one  awaking  his 
;ndignation,  the  other  his  ridicule.  But  in  the  very 
paper  in  which  he  asks,  "  Who  reads  an  American 
book?"  he  gives  that  exquisitely  humorous  account  of 
English  taxation,  which  is  known  to  every  schoolboy. 
Here  is  a  specimen  of  his  manner  of  speaking  of  foreign 
countries,  in  which  it  will  be  seen  he  does  not  spare  his 
own.  "  One  of  the  great  advantages  of  the  American 
government  is  its  cheapness.  The  American  king  has 
about  £5,000  per  annum  ;  the  vice-king,  £1,000.  They 
hire  their  Lord  Liverpool  at  about  a  thousand  per  annum, 
and  their  Lord  Sidinouth  (a  good  bargain)  at  about  the 
same  sum.  Their  Mr.  Crokers  are  inexpressibly  reason- 
able,—  somewhere  about  the  price  of  an  English  door- 
keeper, or  bearer  of  the  mace.  Life,  however,  seems  to 
go  on  very  well,  in  spite  of  these  small  salaries."  His 
praise  of  Anierica  is  most  hearty,  when  he  answers  some 
libels  of  tory  tourists,  interested  in  the  abuse  of  repub- 
licanism ;  but  it  is  always  tinged  with  his  peculiar 
habit  of  mind,  and  it  is  always  Jonathan  that  he  praises, 
not  Columbia.  All  dignity  derived  from  titles,  high 
station,  or  the  customs  of  speech,  everything,  in  short, 
which  is  "  gilded  seeming "  and  not  plain  reality,  is 
reduced  to  common  sense  by  a  similar  process  of  cari- 
cature. His  works,  on  this  account,  are  more  radical  in 
spirit  and  tendency  than  any  others,  for  they  strike  at  all 
cant  whatever,  whether  it  be  the  cant  of  monarchy  or 
the  cant  of  democracy.  He  takes  away  all  the  screens 
which  give  a  factitious  dignity  and  elevation  to  govern- 


14S  BSSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

merits  an  J  men.  We  do  not  seem  to  read  his  writings, 
—  we  listen  to  them.  We  obtain  the  impression,  that  a 
shrewd,  honest,  independent  man,  full  of  talent  and  in- 
formation, and  careless  of  all  external  propriety,  is  talk- 
ing to  us  with  a  delightful  mixture  of  sense,  wit,  eccen- 
tricity, and  feeling.  A  speech  from  the  throne,  a  presi- 
dent's message,  or  a  report  of  a  society  established  to 
overthrow  or  promote  anything,  from  the  pen  of  Sydney 
Smith,  would  be  the  strangest,  and  yet  the  most  natural, 
document  that  has  been  "  published  by  authority  "  during 
the  last  ten  centuries. 

Few  men  can  write  with  this  disregard  of  common 
forms,  and  this  perfect  expression  of  individual  peculiar- 
ities, without  falling  into  coarseness  or  buffoonery.  The 
familiar  writer  is  apt  to  be  his  own  satirist.  Out  of  his 
own  mouth  is  he  judged.  The  peculiarities  of  his 
character  must  be  good,  and  so  combined  as  to  produce 
a  pleasing  effect,  or  his  sincerity  is  liable  to  be  his  great- 
est enemy.  A  man  who  casts  from  him  all  conventional 
drapery,  and  exhibits  his  whole  nature  without  reserve, 
should  be,  it  would  seem,  the  greatest  of  saints  or  the 
greatest  of  egotists,  to  pass  through  the  ordeal  without 
loss  of  reputation  or  self-complacency.  Sydney  Smith 
is  neither,  and  yet  he  has  avoided  the  rocks  on  which 
familiarity  usually  splits.  Some  of  the  writers  in 
Fraser's  and  Blackwood's  Magazines  often  fell  into  a 
jrrave  error,  in  discarding  the  stilts  of  style.  They 
•limed  to  give  a  racy,  conversational  tone  to  their  com- 
positions,—  to  write  as  they  would  talk  ;  and  it  must  be 
admitted,  that  they  obtained  their  object.  For  many 
years,  they  poured  forth  a  mingled  tide  of  wit,  vulgarity, 
malice,  learning,  intolerance,  and  folly,  which,  when  we 
consider  that  no  man  is  bound  to  criminate  himself,  must 


SIDNEY    SliriTH. 


U^ 


naie  been  done  in  the  very  sin.plicity  and  ignt  ranee  of 
malevolence.  In  almost  every  instance  in  which  they 
basely  or  petulantly  condemned  an  author,  they  were 
writing  the  bitterest  of  all  condemnations  on  themselves. 
Papers  steeped  in  misrepresentation  and  injustice,  illus- 
trating- all  the  varieties  of  bad  temper,  rich  in  language 
drawn  from  the  pot-house  and  the  fish-market,  and  teem- 
ing with  personalities  of  the  grossest  and  most  unjustifi- 
able kind,  —  papers  which  have  been  the  ideal  models 
of  every  profligate  newspaper  hack  in  our  own  country,  ^ 
—  were,  no  doubt,  considered  by  these  writers  as  fine 
specimens  of  familiar  composition.  Such  familiarity  we 
can  obtain  without  resorting  to  books  or  bad  company. 
But  these  men  were  masters  of  another  style  of  thought 
and  expression,  essentially  different  from  that  we  have 
indicated,  — a  style  full  of  all  saintly  sentiment,  and  pro- 
fuse in  phrases  of  kindliness,  piety,  and  gentle  feeling. 
A  comparison  of  the  "  Lights  and  Shadows  of  Scottish 
Life"  with  the  most  shameful  vulgarities  of  the  "  Noc- 
tes,"  will  give  the  best  idea  that  can  be  obtained  of  the 
nature  of  this  difference. 

The  writings  of,  Sydney  Smith  are  free  from  all  vul- 
garities of  the  kind  we  have  noted,  because  he  is  in  real- 
ity an  honest,  true-hearted  man.  He  can  afford  to  be 
familiar.  He  is  not  all  Billingsgate  on  one  side  of  his 
mind,  and  all  Arcadia  on  the  other.  The  great  peculi- 
arity of  his  works,  apart  from  the  qualities  of  character 
they  display,  is  their  singular  blending  of  the  beautiful 
with  the  ludicrous ;  and  this  is  the  source  of  his  refine- 
ment. He  is  keen  and  personal,  almost  fierce  and  mer- 
ciless, in  his  attacks  on  public  abuses;  he  has  no  check 
on  his  humor  from  authority  or  conventional  forms ;  and 
yet  he  very  rarely  violates  good  taste.     There  is  much 


150  ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS 

good  natue  m  nim,  too,  in  spite  of  his  severity.  His 
quick  perception  of  what  is  laughable  modifies  his  sen- 
sibility to  what  is  detestable.  He  cannot  be  grave  for  ten 
minutes,  though  on  the  gravest  of  subjects.  His  indig- 
nation and  invective  are  almost  ever  followed  by  some 
jesting  allusion  or  grotesque  conceit.  He  draws  down 
upon  the  object  of  his  censure  both  scorn  and  laughter ; 
and  makes  even  abuse  palatable,  by  clothing  it  in  phrases 
or  images  which  charm  by  their  beauty  or  wit.  When 
he  writes  on  government  and  laws,  he  seems  to  detect 
deformity  and  deceit  by  an  inner  sense  of  harmony  and 
proportion.  He  cannot  lash  the  most  criminal  violations 
of  humanity  and  rectitude,  he  cannot  cut  and  thrust  at 
the  most  monstrous  pretensions  of  power,  without  con- 
sidering the  enormity  a  folly  to  be  jeered  at,  as  well  as  a 
crime  to  be  denounced.  So  it  is  with  his  benevolent 
and  religious  feelings.  His  philanthropy  expresses  Hself 
as  often  in  jokes,  in  sly  touches  of  humor,  in  broad 
gushes  of  fun  and  caricature,  as  in  pathos  and  sympathy. 
And  yet,  the  sentiment  of  beauty,  amid  all  the  humor, 
denunciation  and  extravagance,  is  constantly  preserved 
and  prevents  him  from  falling  into  buffoonery  or  harsb 
vituperation.  It  would  be  difficult  to  point  out  the 
source  of  his  power  of  fascination  in  this  respect;  but  it 
strikes  us,  on  the  first  reading,  as  being  different  from 
anything  else  we  have  ever  seen. 

The  collection  of  Sydney  Smith's  works  which  is  now 
before  us  is  principally  made  up  of  papers  contributed 
to  the  Edinburgh  Review,  of  which  he  was  one  of  the 
founders,  and  the  first  editor.  This  celebrated  journal, 
the  great  enemy  of  the  garreteers,  was  projected  in  a 
garret.  Few  literary  enterprises  have  had  a  Tiore  hum- 
^''e  commencement.     Smith   says,  in  his   preface,   that 


SYDNEY     SMITH.  151 

Jeffrey,  Murray,  and  himself,  "one  day,  happe.jed  to 
meet  in  the  eighth  or  ninth  story  or  flat  in  Buccleugh 
Place,  the  elevated  residence  of  the  then  Mr.  Jeffrey.  I 
proposed  that  we  should  set  up  a  Review;  this  was 
acceded  to  with  acclamation.  I  was  appointed  editor, 
and  remained  long  enough  in  Edinburgh  to  edit  the  first 
number  of  the  Edinburgh  Review.  The  motto  I  pro- 
posed for  the  Review  was, 

'  Tenui  musain  meditamur  aven& : ' 
'  We  cultivate  literature  upon  a  little  oatmeal.' 

But  this  was  too  near  the  truth  to  be  admitted,  and  so 
wo  took  our  present  grave  motto  from  Publius  Syrus,  of 
whom  none  of  us  had,  I  am  sure,  ever  read  a  single 
line." 

His  contributions  to  the  Review  are  scattered  over  its 
pages  from  1802  to  1S2S.  They  are  on  a  variety  of 
topics,  —  Ireland,  Catholic  Claims,  the  Church,  Sermons, 
Bishops,  Prisons,  Botany  Bay,  Poor  Laws,  Education, 
Missions,  Methodists,  Game  Laws,  Travels,  America,  and 
Miscellaneous  Literature.  All  these  subjects  he  has 
treated  in  his  own  way,  from  his  own  point  of  view,  and 
each  is  illustrative  of  his  character.  Everything  he 
touches  he  makes  agreeable.  No  one  should  skip  any 
articles  from  a  fear  of  the  dulness  suggested  by  the  name. 
Politics  and  political  economy  are  the  themes  which  he 
discusses  perhaps  with  the  most  ability,  the  most  severity, 
and  the  most  brilliancy.  We  would  call  particular  atten- 
tion to  the  short  reviews  published  in  the  earlier  numbers 
of  the  Edinburgh,  particularly  to  those  on  political  ser- 
mons. The  sharp,  terse  diction,  the  Kvely  temperament, 
the  ^uick  perception,  the  brisk,  tingling  wit,  the  rich 
humor,  at   times  so  .demure  and   sly,  and  at  others  so 


152  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

broad  and  i;.nreined,  —  these  qualities  strike  us  us  much 
in  the  productions  of  Smith's  youth,  as  in  those  of  his 
maturity.  The  charge  of  infidelity  brought  against  the 
Review,  for  which  Lord  Jeffrey  was  made  responsible,  was 
owing,  probably,  more  to  Smith's  ridicule  of  clerical  fanat 
icisnt,  fopperies,  affectations,  and  servilities,  than  to  any 
other  cause.  Though  a  clergyman  of  the  established 
church,  no  man  was  less  hampered  by  a  veneration  for  its 
ministers.  During  the  period  in  which  he  wrote,  prefer- 
ment depended  so  much  more  on  politics  than  piety,  and 
the  church  was  disgraced  by  so  many  clergymen  willing 
to  barter  their  souls  for  bishoprics,  that  we  think  his  con- 
duct was  not  only  free  from  the  charge  of  infidelity,  but 
that  it  was  justified  by  the  circumstances.  A  curate,  or 
a  bishop,  who  lends  his  name  to  the  defence  of  abuses, 
corruption,  and  intolerance,  of  all  those  errors  and  crimes 
which  Christianity  abhors,  and  does  this  from  selfish 
considerations,  to  please  a  dominant  power  in  the  state, 
is  worthy  of  the  lash  both  of  satire  and  invective ;  and, 
if  the  punishment  be  inflicted  by  a  member  of  the  same 
church  which  is  disgraced  by  the  culprit,  there  is  a  clear 
gain  to  its  honor.  Such  a  course  takes  from  infidels 
their  strongest  practical  argument,  —  the  only  argument 
that  has  any  effect  upon  large  bodies  of  people.  Every 
triumph  of  irreligion  has  been  gained  by  dextrously 
confounding  the  priests  of  the  Gospel  with  the  doctrines 
and  precepts  of  the  Gospel ;  and  when  the  former  have 
been  false  to  their  faith,  the  requisitions  of  their  faith 
have  been  weapons  with  which  scoffers  have  attacked 
both  church  and  clergy.  Though  the  articles  to  which 
we  have  referred  may  displease  many  worthy  men,  we 
can  find  nothing,  either  in  them,  or  in  other  portions  of 
these   volumes,   to  justify   the    foolish   and    nalignant 


SYDNEY    SMitH.  153 

charge  of  infidelity,  originally  brought  against  thein  by 
placemen  and  political  jobbers  whose  knavery  he  had 
exposed,  and  afterwards  repeated  by  better  men,  who 
were  ignorant,  of  what  they  stigmatized. 

The  following  extract  shows  with  what  shrewdness, 
honesty,  courage  and  independence,  he  wrote  about  do> 
tors  of  divinity  and  the  affairs  of  the  church  He  says, 
(in  1S02,)  that  the  great  object  of  modern  sermons  is  to 
hazard  nothing;  their  characteristic  is  decent  debility. 

"Pulpit  discourses  have  insensibly  dwindled  from  speaking 
to  reading;  a  practice  ot' itself  sufficient  to  stifle  every  germ  of 
eloquence.  It  is  only  by  the  fresh  feelings  of  the  heart,  that 
mankind  can  be  very  powerfully  affef.ted.  What  can  be  more 
ludicrous  than  an  orator  delivering  stale  indignation,  and  fervor 
of  a  ^yeek  old ;  turning  over  whole  pages  of  violent  passions, 
written  out  in  German  text ;  reading  the  tropes  and  apostrophes 
into  which  he  is  hurried  by  the  ardor  of  his  mind ;  and  so  af- 
fected by  a  preconcerted  line  and  page,  that  he  is  unable  to 
proceed  further?  The  prejudices  of  the  English  nation  have 
proceeded  a  good  deal  from  their  hatred  to  the  French ;  and 
because  that  country  is  the  native  soil  of  elegance,  animation 
and  grace,  a  certain  patriotic  stolidity  and  loyal  awlcwardness 
have  become  the  characteristics  of  this  ;  so  that  an  adventurous 
preacher  is  afraid  of  violating  the  ancient  tranquillity  of  the 
pulpit,  and  the  audience  are  commonly  apt  to  consider  the  man 
who  tires  them  less  than  usual  as  a  trifler  or  a  charlatan." 

In  an  article  on  Dr.  Rcnncl,  he  ridicules  some  fooleries 
in  the  forgotten  writings  of  that  clergyman,  and  puts  the 
reverend  gentleman  into  the  class,  numerous  at  that 
tiiTie,  of  "bad  heads  bawling  for  the  restoration  of  explod- 
ed errors  and  past  infetuation."  The  doctor  had  called 
the  age,  among  other  terms  of  reproach,  a  foppish  age  : 
and  Smith  asks,  if  there  is  not  a  class  of  fops  as  vair. 
and  shallow  as  any  of  tlieir  fraternity  in  Bond-street,— 


l54  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

•*a  class  of  fops  not  usually  designated  by  that  epithet — ■ 
men  clothed  in  profound  black,  with  large  canes,  and 
strange  amorphous  hats  —  of  big  speech  and  imperative 
presence —  talkers  about  Plato  —  great  afTecters  of  seial- 
ity  —  despisers  of  women,  and  all  the  graces  of  life  — 
fierce  foes  to  common  sense — abusive  of  the  living,  and 
approving  no  one  who  has  not  been  dead  at  least  a  cen- 
tury." On  being  accused  of  intolerance,  for  some  pas- 
sages in  one  of  his  articles,  Smith  replies,  "They  com- 
plain of  intolerance ;  a  weasel  might  as  well  complain 
of  intolerance,  when  he  is  throttled  for  sucking  eggs." 
In  arguing  against  the  horror  of  some  Christians  at  the 
thought  of  indulging  even  in  innocent  pleasures,  hf 
speaks  of  them  as  "always  trembling  at  the  idea  of 
being  entertained,  and  thinldng  no  Christian  safe  who  is 
not  dull." 

In  his  judgments  of  books,  our  author  is  sometimes  as 
pert  and  insulting  as  his  real  good  humor  will  allow 
No  critic  is  more  felicitous  or  expeditious  in  the  task  of 
demolishing  a  dunce.  The  affectations  of  authors  he 
detects  by  intuition,  and  makes  them  immeasurably 
ridiculous.  In  a  happy  epithet,  or  a  fine  combination  of 
a  few  words,  he  often  does  the  work  of  pages.  He  is 
ever  racy  and  pointed,  if  not  always  correct,  in  his  criti- 
cal opinions.  His  mode  of  reviewing  is  like  that  which 
is  practised  in  the  ordinary  conversation  of  gentlemen. 
A  man  who  gives  his  opinion  of  a  new  publication  ai  a 
dinner-table,  or  to  a  friend  whom  he  meets  in  the  streets, 
does  not  express  himself  as  he  would,  if  he  were  review- 
ing the  book  in  a  periodical.  The  "dignity  of  letters" 
would  be  observable  in  the  latter.  Smith  is  the  same  in 
pnnt  as  in  speech,  —  the  same  man  in  the  Edinburgh 
Review  that  he  is  at  his  own  fireside.     This  kind  of 


SYDNEY    SMITH. 


155 


criticism  is  what  poor  authors  dread.  Puffs  in  the  news- 
papers are  no  offsets  to  scorn  in  the  markets.  Many  a 
scribbler  has  been  destroyed  by  an  after-dinner  jest, 
kindly  reported  verbatim  to  him  by  a  literary  friend, 
after  having  been  patted  into  self-complacency  by  the 
praises  of  magazines.  An  author,  before  he  indulges 
the  pleasing  contemplation  of  being  popular,  should 
endeavor  to  know  what  is  said  of  his  works,  as  well  as 
what  is  written  of  them.  Smith's  style  of  reviewing 
gives  him  accurate  information  on  the  former  point, 
though  at  a  great  expense  to  his  self-importance. 

With  all  his  levity  and  trifling,  our  author  is  generally 
just  and  fair  in  criticism.  Macaulay  exceeds  him  in 
the  overpowering  declamation  Avith  which  he  crushes 
and  grinds  to  atoms  the  pretenders  of  literature  and  pol- 
itics ;  but  his  exceeding  severity  sometimes  excites  com- 
miseration for  the  offender;  while  Smith  generally  carries 
the  reader  along  with  him,  even  to  the  limits  of  carica- 
ture. When  he  dissects  or  cuffs  a  description  of  writers 
whom  he  includes  under  the  general  term  of  Noodles 
he  often  seems  to  sink  the  person  in  the  thing,  and  to 
treat  of  the  genus  rather  than  the  individual.  If  we  can 
conceive  of  a  pleasant,  jovial,  experimental  philosopher, 
pinning  a  beetle  to  the  table,  and  deducing  from  its 
structure  and  contortions  the  general  laws  to  which  they 
may  be  referred,  we  may  obtain  some  notion  of  the 
treatment  which  a  Noodle  suffers,  when  it  is  his  fortune 
to  fall  into  the  hands  of  Sydney  Smith.  For  any  par- 
ticular person  of  the  class  he  ha.«  no  enmity,  but  think- 
ing that  the  bigotries  and  absurdities  of  the  class  itself 
are  pernicious,  he  torments  one  of  them  as  a  warning  to 
the  rest.  It  was  a  sad  day  for  Grub-street  when  the 
critical  offices  of  judge,  jury  and  executioner,  were  all 


156  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

combined  in  one  man  of  wit,  and  the  sentences  of  the 
court  expressed  in  cutting  jests.  On  the  whole,  if  fools 
must  be  whipped,  no  humane  and  intelligent  person 
would  object  to  Sydney  Smith  as  the  wieMer  of  the  rod, 
—  being  pretty  certain  that  the  punishn.ent  would  be 
inflicted  with  as  much  mercy  as,  under  the  circum- 
stances, ought  to  be  expected. 

The  notice  of  Dr.  Parr  contains  the  best  criticism  on 
the  English  of  that  celebrated  linguist  we  have  ever 
seen.  The  objection,  that  he  never  appears  to  forget 
himself,  "or  to  be  hurried  by  his  subject  into  obvious 
language,"  is  applicable  to  many  other  men  whose  trust 
is  not  in  things  but  sentences.  A  foolish  alarmist, 
named  Bowles,  wrote  a  furious  pamphlet,  in  1802,  which 
Smith  describes  as  being  "written  in  the  genuine  spirit 
of  the  "Windham  and  Pitt  school ;  though  Mr.  Bowles 
cannot  be  called  a  servile  copyist  of  either  of  these  gen- 
tlemen, as  he  has  rejected  the  logic  of  the  one,  and  the 
eloquence  of  the  other,  and  imitated  them  only  in  their 
headstrong  violence  and  exaggerated  abuse."  An  ab- 
stract of  a  play  by  Monk  Lewis  concludes  in  this  wise 
"  Orsino  stabs  his  own  son,  at  the  moment  the  king  is  in 
his  son's  power;  falls  down,  from  the  wounds  he  has 
received  in  battle ;  and  dies  in  the  usual  dramatic  style, 
repeating  twenty-two  hexameter  verses."  In  a  review 
of  a  Frenchman's  book  of  travels  in  England,  after 
making  some  acute  remarks  on  the  mistakes  of  foreign 
tourists.  Smith  adds,  "Mr.  Jacob  Fievee,  with  the  most 
surprising  talents  for  doing  wrong,  has  contrivrd  to 
condense  and  agglomerate  every  species  of  absurdity 
which  has  hitherto  been  made  known,  and  even  to 
launch  out  occasionally  into  new  regions  of  nonsense 
with  a  boldness  which  well  enntles  him  to  the  merit  of 


SYDNEY    SMIxn.  U/7 

originality  in  folly,  and  discovery  in  impertinence." 
The  same  traveller  ends  his  charges  against  the  English 
by  alleging  that  they  have  great  pleasure  in  contem- 
plating the  spectacle  of  men  deprived  of  their  reason. 
"  And  we  must  have  the  candor  to  allow,"  adds  the  re- 
viewer, "that  the  hospitality  which  Mr.  Fievce  experi- 
enced seems  to  afford  some  pretext  for  this  assertion." 
Richard  Lovell  Edgeworth  is  happily  characterized  as 
possessing  "  the  sentiments  of  an  accomplished  gentle- 
man, the  information  of  a  scholar,  and  the  vivacity  of  a 
first-rate  harlequin.  He  is  fuddled  with  animal  spirits, 
giddy  with  constitutional  joy  ;  in  such  a  state,  he  must 
have  written  on  or  burst.  A  discharge  of  ink  was  an 
evacuation  absolutely  necessary,  to  avoid  fatal  and  pleth- 
oric congestion."  Poor  Mrs.  Trimmer  is  informed,  in 
another  sharp  review,  that  "  she  is  a  lady  who  flames  in 
the  van  of  Mv.  Newburj^'s  shop  ;  and  is,  on  the  whole, 
dearer  to  mothers  and  aunts  than  any  other  author  who 
pours  the  milk  of  science  into  the  mouths  of  babes  and 
sucklings." 

A  Mr.  Styles  answered  Smith's  paper  on  Methodism, 
in  a  manner  which  excited  considerable  anger  and  invec- 
tive in  the  breast  of  the  reviewer.  He  imputes  an 
intolerant  opinion  to  the  sect  of  his  victim,  and  adds, 
that  "  this  reasonable  and  amiable  maxim,  repeated  in 
every  form  of  dulness,  and  varied  in  every  attitude  of 
malignity,  is  the  sum  and  substance  of  Mr.  Styles's 
pamphlet."  In  noting  an  objection  to  a  former  article, 
based  on  its  use  of  ridicule  rather  than  argument,  Smith 
proceeds  in  a  strain  of  wit,  which  in  some  degree  apolo- 
gizes for  its  injustice,  to  show,  that  "  it  is  not  the  prac- 
tice with  destroyers  of  vermin  to  allow  the  little  victims 
a  veto  upon  the  weapons  used  against  them.      If  this 


15S  ESSAYS    AN,.    REVIEWS. 

were  otherwise,  we  should  have  one  set  of  vermin  ban- 
ishing small-tooth  combs ;  another  protesting  against 
mouse-traps  ;  a  third  prohibiting  the  finger  and  thumb; 
a  fourth  exclaiming  against  the  intolerable  infamy  of 
using  soap  and  water.  It  is  impossible,  however,  to 
listen  to  such  pleas.  They  must  all  be  caught,  killed, 
and  cracked,  in  the  maimer,  and  by  the  instruments, 
which  are  found  most  efficacious  to  their  destruction ; 
and  the  more  they  cry  out,  the  greater  plainly  is  the 
skill  used  against  them."  We  believe  the  impudence  of 
reviewing  cannot  exceed  this. 

In  a  sharp  review  of  a  Mr.  Rose,  who  had  attempted 
to  bring  the  correctness  of  some  facts  in  Fox's  history 
into  dispute.  Smith  exults  over  a  detection  of  the  errors 
of  Rose's  own  book,  in  some  characteristic  sentences. 
"  The  species  of  talent  which  he  pretends  to  is  humble 
—  and  he  possesses  it  not.  He  is  a  braggadocio  of 
minuteness  —  a  swaggering  chronologer  ; — a  man  bris- 
tling up  with  small  facts  —  prurient  with  dates — wanton- 
ing in  obsolete  evidence — loftily  dull,  and  haughty  in 
his  drudgery  ;  —  and  yet  this  is  all  pretence."  In  an 
article  on  prisons.  Smith  refers  to  the  labors  of  Mrs. 
Fry,  and  the  extravagance  of  some  of  the  eulogists  of 
her  philanthropy.  He  advises  the  prison  reformers  to 
support  all  strong  assertions  with  strong  documents,  and 
then  slides  off  into  the  following  exquisite  stroke  of 
humor  :  "  The  English  are  a  calm,  reflecting  people  ; 
they  will  give  time  and  money,  when  they  are  con- 
vinced ;  but  they  love  dates,  names,  and  certificates.  In 
the  midst  of  the  most  heart-rending  narratives.  Bull 
requires  the  day  of  the  mouth,  the  year  of  our  Lord,  the 
name  of  the  parish,  and  the  countersign  of  three  or  four 
respectable  householders.     After  these  affecting  circur^ 


SYDNEY    SMITH.  159 

Stances,  he  can  no  longer  hold  out ;  but  gives  way  to  the 
kindness  of  his  nature,  —  puffs,  blubbers,  and  subscribes." 
Smith's  perception  of  moral  distinctions  is  so  acute, 
that  he  easily  exposes  the  deceptions  of  style  and  senti- 
aient.  The  immorality  of  a  book  he  detects  through  the 
jiost  cunning  disguises.  Right  and  wrong  are  never 
confounded,  never  run  into  each  other,  as  he  uses  the 
terms.  No  man  can  plead  his  r.ubility  of  soul,  his 
crushed  afTections,  his  refined  sensibilities,  for  indulging 
in  misanthropy  and  licentiousness.  His  condemnation 
of  such  perversities  of  genius  is  not,  to  be  sure,  always 
expressed  in  a  serious  way;  but  whether  it  be  clothed  in 
invective  or  epigram,  the  reader  is  alwaj's  able  to  per- 
reive  its  good  sense  and  correctness.  In  a  review  of 
Madame  d'Epinay's  letters,  he  has  combined  truth  and 
humor,  in  a  very  felicitous  manner,  in  his  statement  of 
the  morality  of  French  society  before  the  Revolution. 
"  There  used  to  be  in  Paris,  under  the  ancient  regime,  a 
few  women  of  brilliant  talents,  who  violated  all  the 
common  duties  of  life,  and  gave  very  pleasant  little 
suppers.  Among  these  supped  and  sinned  Madame 
d'Epinay."  He  objects  to  the  book,  that  it  contains 
bome  improper  and  scandalous  passages,  which  degrade 
the  whole  work.  "  But,"  he  adds,  "  if  all  the  decencies 
and  delicacies  of  life  were  in  one  scale,  and  five  francs 
in  the  other,  what  French  bookseller  would  feel  a  single 
moment  of  doubt  in  making  his  election  ?  "  There  are 
booksellers  now  who  would  not  have  the  single  moment 
of  doubt,  if  the  five  francs  were  reduced  to  niiiepence. 
In  a  review  of  a  wretched  translation  of  Madame  de 
Stael's  "  Delphine,"  in  1S02,  Smith  indulges  in  this 
strain  of  compliment  respecting  the  book  and  i/s  author: 
"This   dismal    trash,  which  has  nearly   disl  >cated  the 


^(iO  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

jaws  of  every  critic  among  us  with  gaping,  has  so 
alarmed  Bonaparte,  that  he  has  seized  the  whole  im- 
pression, sent  Madame  de  Statl  out  of  Paris,  and,  for 
aught  we  know,  sleeps  in  a  nightcap  of  steel,  and  dagger- 
proof  blankets.  To  us  it  appears  rather  an  attack  upon 
the  ten  commandments  than  the  government  of  Bona- 
parte ;  and  calculated  not  so  much  to  enforce  the  rights 
of  the  Bourbons,  as  the  benefits  of  adultery,  murder,  and 
a  great  number  of  other  vices."  Further  on  he  remarks, 
"  The  morality  of  all  this  is  the  old  morality  of  Far- 
quhar,  Vanbrugh,  and  Congreve,  —  that  every  witty  man 
may  transgress  the  seventh  commandment,  which  was 
never  meant  for  the  protection  of  husbands  who  labor 
under  the  incapacity  of  making  repartees."  We  believe 
that  this  last  stroke  of  wit  contains  the  whole  objection 
to  the  different  schools  of  literary  immorality.  Pages 
would  not  add  to  its  force  or  its  pungency. 

Smith  has  been  a  reformer,  a  sturdy  and  unflinching 
one.  In  his  political  discourses,  he  almost  always  con- 
siders a  love  of  place,  and  not  a  love  of  man,  as  the  pre- 
dominating principle  of  his  opponents.  The  prominence 
he  gives  to  venality,  as  the  source  and  sustenance  of 
toryism,  evinces  the  extremely  practical  view  he  is 
inclined  to  take  of  political  disputes.  If  we  assent  to 
his  statement,  we  nmst  believe,  that  in  England  the  most 
beneficial  reforms,  the  OA^erthrow  oi"  institutions  the  most 
absurd  and  pernicious,  have  been  delayed  during  the  last 
thirty  3'ears  by  extreme  corruption  combining  with  ex- 
treme folly.  A  pamphlet  is  published  in  defence  of  some 
old  abuse ;  and  Smith  answers  it  by  showing  the  income 
and  rank  which  its  author  derives  from  the  legalized 
system  of  plundering  the  public.  His  praise  of  Mr. 
Scarbtt  rests  on  the  fact,  that  he  has  not  "  carried  his 


SYDNEY    SMITH.  16^ 

Boul  to  the  treasury,  and  said,  What  will  ):ou  give  me 
for  this  ?  He  has  never  sold  the  warm  feelings  and 
honorable  motives  of  his  youth  and  manhood  for  an 
annual  sum  of  money  and  an  office ;  he  has  never  taken 
a  price  for  public  liberty  and  public  happiness  ;  he  has 
never  touched  the  political  Aceldama,  and  signed  the 
devil's  bond  for  cursing  to-morrow  what  he  has  blest 
to-day."  That  is,  Mr,  Scarlett  is  not  a  scoundrel,  and 
is  accordingly  to  be  eulogized.  Again,  according  io 
Smith,  the  phrase,  "God  save  the  king,"  means,  with 
too  many  loyalists,  "  God  save  my  pension  and  my 
place,  —  God  give  my  sisters  an  allowance  out  of  the 
privy-purse,  —  make  me  clerk  of  the  irons,  let  me  survey 
the  meltings,  let  me  live  upon  the  fruits  of  other  men's 
industry,  and  fatten  upon  the  plunder  of  the  public." 
These  words  are  bitter  as  well  as  brilliant,  and  show 
that  Pennsylvania  bonds  are  not  the  only  iniquitous 
things  in  creation. 

The  love  of  justice,  the  hatred  of  cruelty,  the  lavish 
scorn  and  ridicule  heaped  upon  bigotry  and  fraud,  which 
characterize  so  many  of  these  essays,  are  admirably  dis- 
played in  the  articles  on  Ireland  and  the  Catholics,  and 
in  the  celebrated  "  Peter  Plymley's  Letters."  It  has 
been  well  said,  that  Ireland  should  erect  a  monument  to 
Smith's  memory,  for  services  in  her  cause,  laking  the 
broad  ground,  that  no  man  should  be  subjected  to  civil 
incapacities  on  account  of  his  religious  belief,  he  employs 
all  methods  to  impress  its  correctness  on  the  minds  of 
governors.  He  represents  the  folly,  the  danger,  the 
injustice  and  the  sin,  of  refusing  to  the  Catholics  of  Ire- 
land their  natural  rights  ;  he  goes  over  the  history  of  the 
country,  to  show  the  enormous  crimes  of  the  English  in 
its  misgovermnent ;  he  dcclauns  in  unmeasured  terms 
11 


162  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

about  the  foolishness  of  suffering  a  large  portion  of  the 
empire  to  be  disbanded  in  sentiment  from  the  other, 
merely  to  gratify  the  fanaticism  and  ignorance  of  the 
old  women  of  the  state ;  he  uses  threats,  entreaties,  sar- 
casms, the  fiercest  and  most  uncompromising  denuncia- 
tion, to  make  the  exclusive  policy  appear  detestable  and 
ridiculous  ;  and  all  this,  without  any  regard  to  the  injury 
it  may  do  at  the  time  to  his  own  interest,  and  without 
any  fear  of  the  calumny,  hatred,  and  petty  persecution, 
It  is  calculated  to  provoke.  Smith,  also,  delights  in 
lashing  the  inconsistency  of  English  philanthropy,  for 
its  love  of  the  oppressed  in  other  countries,  and  its  love 
of  oppression  in  its  own  land.  "  How  wise,"  he  exclaims, 
in  1S27,  "  how  wise,  and  how  affecting,  and  how  humane, 
are  our  efforts  throughout  Europe  to  put  an  end  to  the 
slave-trade  !  Wherever  three  or  four  negotiators  are 
gathered  together,  a  British  diplomate  appears  among 
them  with  some  article  of  kindness  and  pity  for  the  poor 
negro.  All  is  mercy  and  compassion,  except  when 
wretched  Ireland  is  concerned.  The  saint  who  swoons 
at  the  lashes  of  the  Indian  slave  is  the  encourager  of  No- 
Popery  meetings,  and  the  hard,  bigoted,  domineering 
tyrant  of  Ireland."  "  The  chapter  of  English  fraud,"  he 
says  again,  "  comes  next  to  the  chapter  of  English  cru- 
elty, in  the  history  of  Ireland,  and  both  are  equally  dis- 
graceful." In  arguing  the  question  of  Catholic  emanci- 
pation, he  lays  great  stress  upon  the  probability  that  the 
Catholics  will  rise  at  some  critical  period  of  English 
affairs,  (generally  at  the  critical  period  in  which  he  is 
writing,)  and  eitlier  force  the  government  to  yield  them 
their  rights,  or,  what  is  more  likely,  join  themselves  to 
Prance.  Of  course,  John  Bull's  reply  to  this  argumen 
is,  that  he  will  do  nothing  on  compulsion,  and  that  no 


SYDNEY    SMITH.  163 

fear  of  any  kind  shall  force  him  to  yield  one  jot  jf  k'.s 
pretensions.  Smith  laug-hs  at  this  bravado,  and  illus- 
tirates  its  consequences  by  a  variety  of  historical  allusions 
"  There  was  a  period,"  he  says,  "  when  the  slightest 
concession  would  have  satisfied  the  Americans  ;  but  all 
the  world  was  in  heroics  :  one  set  of  gentlemen  met  at 
the  Lamb,  and  another  at  the  Lion  ;  blood-and-treasure 
men,  breathing  war,  vengeance,  and  contempt ;  and  in 
eight  years  afterwards,  an  awlrward-looking  gentleman, 
in  plain  clothes,  walked  up  to  the  drawing-room  of  St. 
James's,  in  the  midst  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  Lion  and 
the  Lamb,  and  was  introduced  as  the  ambassador  from 
the  United  States  of  America."  To  those  politicians 
who  averred,  with  some  tumidity  of  diction,  that  Ireland 
was  a  millstone  around  the  neck  of  England,  he  exclaims, 
—  "Ireland  a  millstone  round  your  neck! — why  is  it 
not  a  stone  of  Ajax  in  your  hand  ?  " 

One  of  the  great  charms  of  these  volumes  is  the  wit  dis- 
played in  the  manner  of  stating  common  things.  There 
is  hardly  a  page  which  does  not  contain  some  humor- 
ous phrase  or  flash  of  fancy,  in  the  highest  degree  felici- 
tous. Many  of  these  remind  us  of  Dickens.  The  power 
of  giving  freshness  to  a  trite  remark,  of  breathing  the 
breath  of  life  into  a  dead  truism,  is  eminently  character- 
istic of  Sydney  Smith.  Everything  that  comes  from  his 
mind  seems  to  be  original,  even  when  it  is  old.  He 
touches  nothing  without  modifying  its  nature,  or  its 
accredited  expression.  Many  examples  might  be  given 
of  this  verbal  felicity.  He  speaks  of  a  great  talker,  as 
"a  tremendous  engine  of  colloquial  oppression."  The 
custom  of  giving  the  persons  of  a  novel  names  suited  to 
their  characters,  he  terms  "  appellative  jocularity."  He 
lefers  to  the  habit  of  talking  about  the  weather,  as  '•  the 


i64  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

train  of  meteorological  questions  and  answers  which 
form  the  staple  of  English  polite  conversation."  And 
nothing  can  be  finer  than  his  description  of  the  disad- 
vantages of  tropical  climates,  arising  from  animals  and 
insects,  "  Every  animal  has  his  enemies  ;  the  land  tor- 
toise has  two  enemies,  —  man  and  the  boa  constrictor. 
Man  takes  him  home  and  roasts  him  ;  and  the  boa  con- 
strictor swallows  him  whole,  shell  and  all,  and  consumes 
him  slowly  in  the  interior,  as  the  Court  of  Chancery  does 
a  great  estate."  "Insects,"  he  adds,  a  few  sentences 
after,  "  are  the  curse  of  tropical  climates.  The  bete 
rouge  lays  the  foundation  of  a  tremendous  ulcer.  In  a 
moment  you  are  covered  with  ticks.  Chigoes  bury  them- 
selves in  your  flesh,  and  hatch  a  large  colony  of  young 
chigoes  in  a  few  hours.  They  will  not  live  together, 
but  every  chigoe  sets  up  a  separate  ulcer,  and  has  his 
own  private  portion  of  pus.  Flies  get  entry  into  your 
mouth,  into  your  eyes,  into  your  nose  ;  you  eat  flies, 
drink  flies,  and  breathe  flies.  Lizards,  cockroaches  and 
snakes,  get  into  the  bed  ;  ants  eat  up  the  books ;  scor- 
pions sting  you  on  the  foot.  Everything  bites,  stings, 
and  bruises ;  every  second  of  your  existence,  you  are 
wounded  by  some  piece  of  animal  life  that  nobody  has 
ever  seen  before,  except  Swammerdam  and  Meriam.  An 
insect  with  eleven  legs  is  swimming  in  your  tea-cup,  a 
nondescript  with  nine  wings  is  struggling  in  the  smal' 
beer,  or  a  caterpillar  with  several  dozen  eggs  in  his  belly 
is  hastening  over  the  bread  and  butter.  All  nature  is 
alive,  and  seems  to  be  gathering  all  her  entomological 
hosts  to  eat  you  up,  as  you  are  standing,  out  of  your 
coat,  waistcoat,  and  breeches.  Such  are  the  tropics. 
All  this  reconciles  us  to  our  dews,  fogs,  vapors  and  driz- 
zle,—  to  our  apothecaries  rushing  about  with  g:irj.ie5. 


STDNE*    SMITH. 


105 


and  lincturcs,  —  to  our  old  British  constitutional  coughs, 
sore  throats,  and  swelk-d  faces." 

The  delicacy  of  touch,  the  circuitous  allusion,  with 
which  Smith  refers  to  things  commonly  received  as  vul- 
gar, is  a  study  for  all  who  wish  to  master  the  refine- 
ments of  expression,  and  make  them  serve  the  purpose 
of  the  most  grotesque  humor.  The  Scotch  Covenanters 
are  referred  to,  in  an  argument  against  intolerance,  in 
the  most  ludicrous  of  all  heroic  lights.  After  saying 
that  the  Percevals  of  those  days  were  not  able,  by  perse- 
cution and  bloodshed,  to  prevent  the  Scotch,  "  that  meta- 
physical people,  from  going  to  heaven  their  true  way, 
instead  of  our  true  way,"  he  immediately  adds  —  "With 
a  little  oatmeal  for  food,  and  a  little  sulphur  for  friction, 
allaying  cutanemis  irritation  with  the  one  hand,  and  hold- 
ing his  Calvinistical  creed  in  the  other,  Sawney  ran  away 
to  the  flinty  hills,  sung  his  psalm  out  of  tune  his  own 
way,  and  listened  to  his  sermon  of  two  hours  long,  amid 
the  rough  and  imposing  melancholy  of  the  tallest  this- 
tles." 

In  another  connection,  in  arguing  in  favor  of  a  good 
reform,  he  says,  with  much  point  and  sagacity,  "  But 
now  persecution  is  good,  because  it  exists ;  every  law 
which  originated  in  ignorance  and  malice,  and  gratifies 
the  passions  from  whence  it  sprang,  we  call  the  wisdom 
of  our  ancestors."  Mr.  Perceval  is  hit  with  much  pun- 
gency by  Peter  Plymley,  who  wishes  that  he  had  tried 
the  efficacy  of  a  mode  of  reasoning  used  to  exclude 
others  from  their  just  rights,  "  not  by  his  understanding, 
but  by  (what  are  full  of  better  things)  his  pockets."  In 
the  "  First  Letter  to  Archdeacon  Singleton,"  he  consid- 
ers an  objection  to  controversies  in  the  bosom  of  the 
church,  founded  on  the  fear,  tliat  while  the  prebendaries 


166  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

and  bisAops  were  quarrelling  among  themselves,  th<! 
democrats  would  sweep  tliem  all  away  together.  "  Be 
it  so,"  answers  Smith.  "  Everybody  has  their  favorite 
death ;  some  delight  in  apoplexy,  and  others  prefer 
marasmus.  I  would  infinitely  rather  be  crushed  by 
democrats,  than,  under  the  plea  of  the  public  good,  bo 
mildly  and  blandly  absorbed  by  bishops." 

With  one  more  extract,  which  we  cannot  resist  copy- 
ing, we  will  leave  Smith's  felicity  of  expression  to  take 
care  of  itself.  It  relates  to  bores,  —  a  class  of  persons 
against  whom  he  has  as  great  a  grudge  as  against  Noo- 
dles. "  Who  punishes,"  he  says,  "  the  bore  ?  What 
sessions  and  what  assizes  for  him  ?  What  bill  is  found 
against  him  ?  Who  indicts  him  ?  When  the  judges 
have  gone  their  vernal  and  autumnal  rounds,  the 
sheep-stealer  disappears,  the  swindler  gets  ready  for  the 
Bay,  the  solid  parts  of  the  murderer  are  preserved  in 
anatomical  collections.  But,  after  twenty  years  of 
crime,  the  bore  is  discovered  in  the  same  house,  in  the 
same  attitude,  eating  the  same  soup,  —  unpunished, 
untried,  undissected  ;  no  scaffold,  no  skeleton,  no  mob 
of  gentlemen  and  ladies  to  gape  over  his  last  dying 
speech  and  confession." 

In  the  extracts  we  have  made  from  Sydney  Smith's 
writings,  we  think  the  characteristics  of  his  mind  and 
manner  are  sufficiently  indicated,  to  enable  our  readers 
to  judge  of  the  man  and  his  works.  The  fearlessness,  the 
severity,  the  bluntness,  the  humor,  which  they  evince, 
must  be  acknowledged  to  be  of  a  rare  and  peculiar  Idnd. 
It  will  be  seen  that,  to  be  just  to  his  compositions,  we 
must  view  thein  always  with  reference  to  his  personal 
character.  Many  things  in  his  writings  cannot  be  ab- 
stractly defended.     He  is  soi.\etimes  too  flippant,  some- 


oiDNET    SMITH.  167 

times  too  dagmatical,  sometimes  too  egfotistlc,  and  some- 
times writes  on  subjects  of  which  he  knows  little  or 
nothing-.  He  is  often  a  little  unjust  to  his  adversaries, 
does  not  generally  have  enough  respect  for  the  feelings 
of  others,  and  has  too  little  hesitation  in  offending  honest 
prejudices  and  errors.  All  these  objections,  and  many 
more,  could  be  brought  against  him  ;  but  they  are  objec- 
tions which  would  be  out  of  place.  In  considering  such 
an  author,  our  object  should  rather  be  to  discover  what 
he  is,  than  to  indicate  what  he  is  not.  None  of  his  foi- 
bles could  be  taken  from  him,  without  introducing  discord 
into  his  character.  The  wonderful  consistency  of  dispo- 
sition which  runs  through  his  works,  from  the  first  sen- 
tence to  the  last,  and  the  indissoluble  connection  of  his 
opinions  with  his  prejudices  and  virtues,  enable  ah  but  the 
tenants  of  "Noodledoni"  to  distinguish  between  the  abso- 
lute and  the  relative  truth  of  his  writings,  and  to  enjoy 
their  humor  and  beauty  at  the  same  time  that  they  may 
often  doubt  their  correctness.  To  understand  him,  and 
to  be  charitable  to  him,  we  should  remember,  that  he 
abandons  the  vantage-ground  of  authorship,  and  allows 
his  readers  to  see  him  without  any  decorous  disguise  or 
show  of  dignity.  In  the  case  of  other  authors,  we  are 
compelled  to  infer  their  whole  nature,  or  their  real  nature, 
by  a  tedious  process  of  analysis  and  logic,  built  on  some 
casual  expressions  in  their  compositions;  and  to  wait  until 
they  die,  before  we  can  verify  the  correctness  of  the  con- 
clusion by  the  tone  of  their  private  letters.  A  good  portion 
of  criticism  is  devoted  to  the  task  of  discovering  what  an 
author  really  is,  and  of  aiming  to  unfold  the  bad  tenden- 
cies of  seemingly  good  opinions.  In  Sydney  Smith's 
Works,  we  have  more  than  the  honesty  of  private  letters. 


1G8  ESSAYS    ANr    REVIEWS. 

and  a  carfjlessness  of  all  appearances,  like  that  of  t,  mar 
conversing  at  his  own  fireside. 

It  has  been  remarlied,  that  the  four  most  extravagant 
humorists  in  modern  times,  Rabelais,  Scarron,  Swift,  and 
Sterne,  were  priests.  To  this  body  may  be  added  Syd- 
ney Smith  ;  though  we  think  his  nature  altogether  of  a 
finer  quality  than  that  of  either  of  the  others,  and  placed 
in  circumstances  better  adapted  to  its  development,  with- 
out outraging  decency  and  morals.  When  we  consider 
the  apparent  recklessness  of  his  wit  and  humor,  and  the 
little  restraint  he  places  on  his  whims,  it  is  remarkable 
that  his  writings  are  so  pure  in  their  moral  tendency, 
and  contain  so  much  genial  and  generous  feeling. 

We  cannot  close  this  paper  without  expressing  our 
regret  that  Sydney  Smith  lost  money  by  his  investments 
in  American  funds,  and  that  he  wrote  his  "  Letters  on 
American  Debts,"  A  man  of  such  honesty,  a  man  who 
has  been  so  delightful  a  companion  to  thousands  who 
have  never  seen  his  face,  must  find  ready  sympathy  in 
any  pecuniary  loss  that  he  may  suffer,  especially  when 
the  loss  is  a  reduction  from  the  gains  of  literary  composi- 
tions, full  of  cordial  humor  and  inimitable  wit.  A  man, 
likewise,  who  has  established  a  character  for  shrewdness, 
and  who  has  rarely  fallen  in  with  the  follies  consequent 
upon  excited  feeling,  should  have  the  condolence  of  all 
his  friends,  when  he  blunders  in  management,  and,  i'm- 
pelled  by  the  fanaticism  of  the  purse,  rushes  himself  into 
the  Noodleism  he  has  spent  a  life  in  ridiculing. 

Indeed,  the  conduct  of  Smith  and  others,  in  regard  to 
American  debts,  resembles  strongly  the  conduct  of  Eng- 
land before  the  American  war,  as  it  has  been  so  felicitously 
described  by  Peter  Plymley,  As  soon  as  the  intelligence 
arrived  of  the  defalcation  of  a  few  States,  "  all  the  world 


SYDNEY    SMITH.  169 

went  into  heroics"  again.  Gentlemen  met  at  tlie  Board 
of  Brokers,  and  grew  financially  furious  on  their  wrongs. 
Persons,  famous  for  making  nice  distinctions,  expressed 
their  incompetency  to  see  the  difference  between  the 
debts  of  the  State  of  New  York  and  the  State  of  Illinois. 
Editorr>,  both  of  tory  and  radical  politics,  were  directed 
to  be  equally  undiscriminating,  and  to  scatter  the  whole 
wealth  of  their  vocabulary  of  slander  on  America.  The 
most  atrocious  misrepresentations,  the  hardiest  false- 
hoods, the  silliest  libels,  were  affirmed  with  the  utmost 
confidence,  and  believed  with  the  utmost  credulity. 
A  crusade  was  threatened  against  our  manners,  our 
society,  our  institutions,  our  literature,  and  our  people. 
Persons  who  were  taxed  to  pay  the  debt  of  their  own 
State,  taxed  to  pay  the  debt  of  the  general  government, 
taxed  to  pay  the  debt  of  their  own  city,  were  to  be  out- 
lawed as  robbers  and  defaulters,  because  they  were  not 
taxed  to  pay  the  debts  of  other  States,  for  whose  obliga- 
tions they  were  no  more  responsible  than  for  those  of  the 
government  of  Great  Britain.  The  very  holders  of 
American  stocks  seemed  to  contribute  their  efforts  to 
dishonor  them.  The  bankers  would  not  touch  the 
United  States  six  per  cent,  loan  at  par ;  and  all  means 
were  tried  to  depress  the  securities  of  the  solvent  States. 
But,  by  and  by,  our  rates  of  interest  fell  from  six  to  five, 
tc  four  and  a  half,  to  three  and  a  half,  per  cent.  Money 
was  abundant  in  almost  every  portion  of  the  Union. 
Stocks  rose  fifteen  or  twenty  per  cent.  While  curses 
against  our  insolvency  were  ringing  on  the  London  Ex- 
change, while  holders  of  State  bonds  were  decrjdng  their 
own  property,  many  astute  American  brokers  bought  the 
worthless  obligations  at  a  large  discount,  and  sold  them 
to  our  own  capitalists  for  permanent  investment.     Many 


170  ESSAYS    AND    Rl'.VIEWS. 

millions  of  the  United  States  loan,  which  would  not  se\I 
at  par  in  London,  were  sold,  some  months  after,  to  our 
own  capitalists,  at  rates  of  premium  steadily  advancing 
from  five  to  fifteen  per  cent.  The  stocks  in  London 
v/hich  "  dragged"  at  eighty-seven,  soon  rose  here  to  one 
hundred  and  four  and  one  hundred  and  eight.  And  all 
this  was  owing  to  the  fact,  that  in  England  it  was  very 
difficult,  to  discriminate  between  States  who  paid  the 
interest  on  their  bonds,  and  States  who  paid  it  not; 
svhile,  in  this  country,  it  was  the  simplest  matter  in  the 
world,  to  any  person  of  common  understanding. 

Now,  our  regret  is,  that  a  man  like  Sydney  Smith 
bhould  have  chimed  in  with  this  popular  clamor,  and 
joined  a  set  of  persons  whom  he  has  all  his  life  stigma- 
tized as  "  Noodles."  Old  Mr.  Weller's  astonishment, 
when  he  heard  that  his  acute  son  Samuel  had  been 
deceived  by  the  weeping  rogue  in  green,  was  not  com- 
parable to  ours  when  we  read  the  "  Letters."  From 
that  production  we  should  derive  the  idea,  that  all  the 
rascality  and  folly  of  the  world  were  included  in  the 
United  States,  —  that  Mr.  Perceval  and  Mr.  Canning 
had  never  governed  Great  Britain,  -  that  Peter  Plyndey 
had  written  no  letters,  —  that  there  was  no  country  called 
Ireland,  —  and  that  no  English  politicians  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  "  touching  the  political  Aceldama,  and  signing 
the  devil's  bond  for  cursing  to-morrow  what  they  have 
blest  to-day."  We  are  sorry,  we  repeat,  that  Sydney 
Smith's  weakness  should  have  led  him  to  publish  so  rash 
a  pamphlet ;  and,  we  are  grieved,  that,  in  a  moment  of 
petulance,  he  sold  his  bonds  at  a  loss.  A  little  patience, 
and  he  might  have  made,  to  say  the  least,  a  better  bar- 
gain. The  peculiar  description  of  American  debt  which 
was  held  by  him  has  risen  much  of  late,  and  we  trust 


SYDNEY    SMITH.  171 

that  it  will  soon  be  good  for  its  nominal  value.  How- 
ever, if  he  should  chance  to  doubt  his  "  Tunis  three  per 
cents,"  and  desire  to  make  a  durable  investment  in 
securities  of  undoubted  worth,  and  yet  not  wish  to  make 
another  trial  of  Pennsylvania,  we  can  conscientiously 
advise  him  to  purchase,  among  other  very  valuable  and 
unblemished  American  stocks,  those  which  go  under  the 
name  of  Massachusetts  Fives  and  New  York  Sixes. 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.* 

The  verbal  honors  of  literature  in  this  country  are 
lavished  with  a  free  hand.  The  mind  of  the  nation  is 
held  responsible  for  all  the  mediocrity  which  rushes  into 
print.  Every  thin  poetaster,  who  wails  or  warbles  in  a 
sentimental  magazine,  is  dignified  with  the  title  of  an 
American  author,  and  is  duly  paraded  in  biographical 
dictionaries  and  "  specimens  "  of  native  poets.  Literary 
reputations  are  manufactured  for  the  smallest  consider- 
atiorj,  and  in  the  easiest  of  all  methods.  A  clique  of 
sentimentalists,  for  example,  find  a  young  dyspeptic  poet, 
and  think  they  see  in  his  murmurings  a  mirror  which 
reflects  the  "  mysteries  "  of  our  nature.  Two  or  three 
excitable  patriots  are  in  ecstasies  at  discovering  a  national 
writer,  when  they  bring  forward  some  scribbler  who 
repeats  the  truisms  of  our  politics,  or  echoes  the  slang 
of  our  elections.  This  nonsense,  it  must  be  admitted,  is 
not  peculiar  to  this  country,  but  is  now  practised  in  most 
civilized  communities.  In  England,  a  poem  by  Mr. 
Robert  Montgomery  passed  through  eleven  editions, 
attaining  a  greater  circulation  in  a  year  or  two,  than  the 
writings  of  Wordsworth  had  obtained  in  twenty.     The 

*  Speeches  and  Forenaic  Arguments.  By  Daniel  Webster.  Ros  on :  Tap- 
pan  and  Dennet,  1830—1843.  3  vols.  8vo. — North  American  Reviem 
July,  1844. 


DANIEL    WEBSTER.  173 

nxt  of  puffing — an  art  which  has  succeeded  in  consum- 
mating the  divorce  between  words  and  ideas  —  is  the 
method  employed  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  for  effect- 
ing this  exaltation  of  mediocrity. 

Now  we  deny  that  the  swarm  of  writers  to  whom  we 
have  adverted  are  to  be  considered  as  the  representa' 
tives  of  the  national  mind,  or  that  their  productions  are 
to  be  deemed  a  permanent  part  of  our  national  literature. 
A  great  portion  of  the  intellectual  and  moral  energy  of 
the  nation  is  engaged  in  active  life.  Those  who  most 
clearly  reflect  the  spirit  of  our  institutions  are  those  who 
are  not  writers  by  profession.  If  we  were  to  make  a  list 
of  American  autiiors,  a  list  which  should  comprehend 
only  such  as  were  animated  by  an  American  spirit,  we 
should  pass  over  the  contributors  to  the  magazines,  and 
select  men  who  lead  representative  assemblies,  or  con- 
tend for  vast  schemes  of  reform.  We  should  attempt  to 
find  those  who  were  engaged  in  some  great  practical 
work,  who  were  applying  large  powers  and  attainments 
to  the  exigencies  of  the  times,  who  were  stirred  by  noble 
impulses,  and  were  laboring  to  compass  great  ends. 
The  thoughts  and  feelings,  which  spring  warm  from  the 
hearts  and  minds  of  such  men,  in  such  positions,  would 
be  likely  to  possess  a  grandeur  and  elevation,  before 
which  the  mere  trifling  of  amateurs  in  letters  would  sink 
into  ridiculous  littleness. 

Believing  thus,  that  our  national  literature  is  to  be 
found  in  the  records  of  our  greatest  minds,  and  is  not 
confined  to  the  poems,  novels  and  essays,  which  may  be 
produced  by  Americans,  we  have  been  surprised  that  the 
name  of  Daniel  Webster  is  not  placed  high  among 
American  authors.  Men  in  every  WTiy  inferior  to  him  in 
mental  povre   have  obtained  a  wide  reputation  for  ivrit- 


174  ESSAYS   AND   KEVIKWS, 

ing  works  in  every  way  inferior  ti  those  spoken  by  hiiu. 
It  cannot  be,  that  a  generation  like  ours,  continually 
boasting  that  it  is  not  misled  by  forms,  should  think  that 
thought  changes  its  character,  when  it  is  published  from 
the  mouth  instead  of  the  press.  Still,  it  is  true,  that  a 
man  who  has  acquired  fame  as  an  orator  and  statesman 
is  rarely  considered,  even  by  his  own  partisans,  in  the 
light  of  an  author.  He  is  responsible  for  no  "  book." 
The  records  of  what  he  has  said  and  done,  though  per- 
haps constantly  studied  by  contemporaries,  are  not 
generally  regarded  as  part  and  parcel  oi  the  national 
literature.  The  fame  of  the  man  of  action  overshadows 
that  of  the  author.  We  are  so  accustomed  to  consider 
him  as  a  speaker,  that  we  are  somewhat  blind  to  the 
great  literary  merit  of  his  speeches.  The  celebrated 
argument  in  reply  to  Hayne,  for  instance,  was  intended 
by  the  statesman  as  a  defence  of  his  political  position,  as 
an  exposition  of  constitutional  law,  and  a  vindication  of 
what  he  deemed  to  be  the  true  policy  of  the  country. 
The  acquisition  of  merely  literary  reputation  had  no 
part  in  the  motives  from  which  it  sprung.  Yet  the 
speech,  even  to  those  who  take  little  interest  in  subjects 
like  the  tariff,  nullification,  and  the  public  lands,  will 
ever  be  interesting,  from  its  profound  knowledge,  its 
clear  arrangement,  the  mastery  it  exhibits  of  all  the 
weapons  of  dialectics,  the  broad  stamp  of  nationality  it 
bears,  and  the  wit,  sarcasm,  and  splendid  and  impas- 
sioned eloquence,  which  pervade  and  vivify,  without 
interrupting,  the  close  and  rapid  march  of  the  argument. 
Considered  merely  as  literary  productions,  therefore, 
we  think  the  three  volumes  of  "  Speeches  and  Forensic 
Arguments,"  quoted  at  the  head  of  this  article,  take  the 
highest  rank  among  the  best  productions  of  the  American 


DANIEL    WEBSTER. 


175 


intellect.  They  are  thoroughly  national  in  theii  spirit 
and  tone,  and  are  full  of  principles,  arguments,  and 
appeals,  which  come  directly  home  to  the  hearts  and 
understandings  of  the  great  body  of  the  people.  They 
contain  the  results  of  a  long  life  of  mental  labor,  employed 
in  the  service  of  the  country.  They  give  evidence  of  a 
complete  familiarity  with  the  spirit  and  workings  of  our 
institutions,  and  breathe  the  bracing  air  of  a  healthy  and 
invigorating  patriotism.  They  are  replete  with  that  true 
wisdom  which  is  slowly  gathered  from  the  exercise  of  a 
strong  and  comprehensive  intellect  on  the  complicated 
concerns  of  daily  life  and  duty.  They  display  qualities 
of  mind  and  style  which  would  give  them  a  high  place 
in  any  literature,  even  if  the  subjects  discussed  were  less 
interesting  and  important ;  and  they  show  also  a  strength 
of  personal  character,  superior  to  irresolution  and  fear, 
capable  of  bearing  up  against  the  most  determined  oppo- 
sition, and  uniting  to  boldness  in  thought  intrepidity  in 
action.  In  all  the  characteristics  of  great  literary  per- 
formances, they  are  fully  equal  to  many  works  which 
have  stood  the  test  of  age,  and  baffled  the  skill  of  criti- 
cism. Still,  though  read  and  quoted  by  everybody, 
though  continually  appealed  to  as  authorities,  though 
considered  as  the  products  of  the  most  capacious  under- 
standing in  the  country,  few  seem  inclined  to  consider 
the  high  rank  they  hold  in  our  literature,  or  their  claim 
to  be  placed  among  the  greatest  works  which  the  human 
intellect  has  produced  during  the  last,  fifty  years. 

If  the  mind  of  Mr.  Webster  were  embodied  in  any 
other  form  than  speeches  and  orations,  this  strange  over- 
sight would  never  be  committed ;  but  the  branch  of 
literature  to  which  his  works  belong  has  been  much 
degraded   by  the   nonsense   and   bombast  of  declairaers 


I7b  ESSAYS   AND  REVIEWS. 

and  sophists.  It  is  edifying  to  read  some  of  the  "  thril 
linfT"  addresses,  which  have  "enchained  the  attention" 
of  thousands,  were  it  only  to  observe  what  tasteless 
word-piling  passes  with  many  for  eloquence.  Thought 
and  expression,  in  these  examples,  are  supplanted  by  the 
lungs  and  the  dictionary.  A  man  who  is  to  address  a 
crowd  or  a  jury  deems  it  necessary  that  a  portion  of  his 
speech  should  be  imaginative  and  passionate ;  and, 
accordingly,  he  painfully  elaborates  a  mass  of  worn  and 
wasted  verbiage  into  a  style  senselessly  extravagant  or 
coldly  turgid.  The  success  with  which  he  practises  this 
deception  emboldens  him  to  continue  his  rhetorical  fool- 
ery, and  he  soon  obtains  a  reputation  for  afliuence  of 
fancy  and  warmth  of  feeling.  A  vast  number  of  exam^ 
pies  of  detestable  bad  taste  might  be  selected  from  the 
orations  of  eminent  men,  who  have  fallen  into  this  style, 
and  labored  to  make  their  eloquence  "  tell "  upon  the 
"  masses."  In  these  examples,  we  are  not  more  struck 
by  the  poverty  of  thought  than  the  poverty  of  feeling  and 
invention.  We  find  that  the  fine  raiment  of  the  orator 
is  the  mere  cast-off  clothes  of  the  poet,  —  that  he  mis- 
takes vulgarity  for  graceful  ease,  —  that  his  images  are 
bloated,  coarse,  and  flaring,  —  and  that  he  has  all  the 
meanness  of  mediocrity,  without  its  simplicity  of  lan- 
guage. Amidst  all  the  tasteless  splendor  and  labored 
frenzy  of  his  diction,  we  can  hardly  discover  one  genuine 
burst  of  feeling. 

The  speeches  of  Daniel  Webster  are  in  admirable  con- 
trast with  the  kind  of  oratory  we  have  indicated.  They 
have  a  value  and  interest  apart  from  the  time  and  occa- 
sion of  their  delivery,  for  they  are  store-houses  of 
thought  and  knowledge.  The  speaker  descends  to  no 
rhetorical  tricks  and  shifts,  he  indulges  in   no  parade 


DANIEL   WEBSTER.  Ill 

of  ornament.  A  self-sustained  intellectual  might  is 
impressed  on  every  page.  He  rarely  confounds  the  pro- 
cesses of  reason  and  imagination,  even  in  those  popular 
discourses  intended  to  operate  on  large  assemblies.  He 
betrays  no  appetite  for  applause,  no  desire  to  win  atten- 
tion by  the  brisk  life  and  momentary  sparkle  of  flashing 
declamation.  Earnestness,  solidity  of  judgment,  eleva- 
tion of  sentiment,  broad  and  generous  views  of  national 
policy,  and  a  massive  strength  of  expression,  characterize 
all  his  works.  We  feel,  in  reading  them,  that  he  is  a 
man  of  principles,  not  a  man  of  expedients ;  that  he 
never  adopts  opinions  without  subjecting  them  to  stern 
tests ;  and  that  he  recedes  from  them  only  at  the  bidding 
of  reason  and  experience.  He  never  seems  to  be  play- 
ing a  part,  but  always  acting  a  life. 

The  ponderous  strength  of  his  powers  strikes  us  not 
more  forcibly  than  the  broad  individuality  of  the  man. 
Were  we  unacquainted  with  the  history  of  his  life,  we 
could  almost  infer  it  from  his  works.  Everything  in  his 
productions  indicates  the  character  of  a  person  who  has 
struggled  fiercely  against  obstacles,  who  has  developed 
his  faculties  by  strenuous  labor,  who  has  been  a  keen 
and  active  observer  of  man  and  nature,  and  who  has 
been  disciplined  in  the  affairs  of  the  world.  There  is  a 
manly  simplicity  and  clearness  in  his  mind,  and  a  rug- 
ged energy  in  his  feelings,  which  preserve  him  from  all 
the  affectations  of  literature  and  society.  He  is  great  by 
original  constitution.  What  nature  originally  gave  to 
him,  nature  has  to  some  extent  developed,  strengthened, 
and  stamped  with  her  own  signature.  We  never  con- 
sider him  as  a  mere  debater,  a  mere  scholar,  or  a  mere 
statesman ;  but  as  a  strong,  sturdy,  earnest  man.  The 
school  and  the  college  could  not  fashion  him  into  anv 
12 


178  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

foreign  shape,  because  they  worked   on    materials    too 
hard  to  yield  easily  to  conventional  moulds. 

The  impression  of  power  we  obtain  from  Webster's 
productions,  —  a  power  not  merely  of  the  brain,  but  of  the 
heart  and  physical  temperament,  a  power  resulting  from 
the  mental  and  bodily  constitution  of  the  whole  man,  —  is 
the  source  of  his  hold  upon  our  respect  and  admiration. 
We  feel  that,  under  any  circumstances,  in  any  condition 
of  social  life,  and  at  almost  any  period  of  time,  his  great 
capacity  would  have  been  felt  and  acknowledged.  He 
does  not  appear,  like  many  eminent  men,  to  be  more 
peculiarly  calculated  for  his  own  age  than  for  any  other, 
—  to  possess  faculties  and  dispositions  which  might  have 
rusted  in  obscurity,  had  circumstances  been  less  propi- 
tious. We  are  sure  that,  as  an  old  baron  of  the  feudal 
time,  as  an  early  settler  of  New  England,  as  a  pioneer 
in  the  western  forests,  he  would  have  been  a  Warwick, 
a  Standish,  or  a  Boon.  His  childhood  was  passed  in  a 
small  country  village,  where  the  means  of  education 
were  scanty,  and  at  a  period  when  the  country  was  rent 
with  civil  dissensions.  A  large  majority  of  those  who 
are  called  educated  men  have  been  surrounded  by  all  the 
implements  and  processes  of  instruction ;  but  Webster 
won  his  education  by  battling  against  difficulties.  "  A 
dwarf  behind  a  steam-engine  can  remove  mountains  ;  but 
no  dwarf  can  hew  them  down  with  a  pick-axe,  and  hi 
must  be  a  Titan  that  hurls  them  abroad  with  his  arms." 
Every  step  in  that  long  journey,  by  which  the  son  of 
the  New  Hampshire  farmer  has  obtained  the  highest 
rank  in  social  and  political  life,  has  been  one  of  strenu- 
ous effort.  The  space  is  crowded  with  incidents,  and 
tells  of  obstacles  sturdily  met  and  fairly  overthrown. 
His  life  and  liis  writings  seem  to  bear  testimony,  that  he 


DANIEL    WEBSTEE.  179 

cp^n  perform  whatever  he  strenuously  attempts.  His 
words  never  seem  disproportioned  to  his  streng^th.  In- 
deed, he  rather  gives  the  impression  that  he  has  powers 
and  impulses  in  reserve,  to  be  employed  when  the  occa- 
sion for  their  exercise  may  arise.  In  many  of  his 
speeches,  not  especially  pervaded  by  passion,  we  perceive 
strength,  indeed,  but  strength  "  half-leaning  on  his  own 
right  arm."  He  has  never  yet  been  placed  in  circum- 
stances where  the  full  might  of  his  nature,  in  all  its 
depth  of  understanding,  fiery  vehemence  of  sensibility, 
and  adamantine  strength  of  will,  have  been  brought  to 
bear  on  any  one  object,  and  strained  to  their  utmost. 

We  have  referred  to  Webster's  productions  as  being 
eminently  national.  Every  one  familiar  with  them  will 
bear  out  the  statement.  In  fact,  the  most  hurried  glance 
at  his  life  would  prove,  that,  surrounded  as  he  has  been 
from  his  youth  by  American  influences,  it  could  hardly 
be  otherwise.  His  earliest  recollections  must  extend 
nearly  to  the  feelings  and  incidents  of  the  Revolution. 
His  whole  life  since  that  period  has  been  passed  in  the 
country  of  his  birth,  and  his  fame  and  honors  are  all 
closely  connected  with  American  feelings  and  institu- 
tions. His  works  all  refer  to  the  history,  the  policy,  the 
laws,  the  government,  the  social  life,  and  the  destiny,  of 
his  own  land.  They  bear  little  resemblance,  in  their 
tone  and  spirit,  to  productions  of  the  same  class  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  They  have  come  from  the 
heart  and  understanding  of  one  into  whose  very  nature 
the  life  of  his  country  has  passed.  Without  taking  into 
view  the  influences  to  which  his  youth  and  early  man- 
hood were  subjected,  so  well  calculated  to  inspire  a  love 
for  the  very  soil  of  his  nativity,  and  to  mould  his  mind 
into  accordan:e  with  what  is  best  and   noblest  in  the 


180 


ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 


spirit  of  our  institutions,  his  position  has  been  .  uch  as  to 
lead  him  to  survey  objects  from  an  American  point  of 
view.  His  patriotism  has  become  part  of  his  being. 
Deny  him  that,  and  you  deny  the  authorship  of  his 
works.  It  has  prompted  the  most  majestic  flights  of  his 
eloquence.  It  has  given  intensity  to  his  purposes,  and 
lent  the  richest  glow  to  his  genius.  It  has  made  his 
eloquence  a  language  of  the  heart,  felt  and  understood 
over  every  portion  of  the  land  it  consecrates.  On  Plym- 
outh Rock,  on  Bunker's  Hill,  at  Mount  Vernon,  by  the 
tombs  of  Hamilton,  and  Adams,  and  Jefferson,  and  Jay, 
we  are  reminded  of  Daniel  Webster.  He  has  done  what 
no  national  poet  has  yet  succeeded  in  doing,  —  associated 
his  own  great  genius  with  all  in  our  country's  history 
and  scenery  which  makes  us  rejoice  that  we  are  Amer- 
icans. Over  all  those  events  in  our  history  which  are 
heroical,  he  has  cast  the  hues  of  strong  feeling  and  vivid 
imagination.  He  cannot  stand  on  one  spot  of  ground, 
hallowed  by  liberty  or  religion,  without  being  kindled 
by  the  genius  of  the  place ;  he  cannot  mention  a  name, 
consecrated  by  self-devotion  and  patriotism,  without  doin^^ 
it  eloquent  homage.  Seeing  clearly,  and  feeling  deeply, 
he  makes  us  see  and  feel  with  him.  That  scene  of  the 
landing  of  the  Pilgrims,  in  which  his  imagination  con- 
jures up  the  forms  and  emotions  of  our  New  England 
ancestry,  will  ever  live  in  the  national  memory.  We 
see,  with  him,  the  "  little  bark,  with  the  interesting  group 
on  its  deck,  make  its  slow  progress  to  the  shore."  We 
feel,  with  him,  "  the  cold  which  benumbed,"  and  listen, 
with  him,  "  to  the  winds  which  pierced  them."  Carver, 
and  Bradford,  and  Standish,  and  Brewster,  and  AUerton, 
look  out  upon  us  from  the  pictured  page,  in  all  the  dig- 
nity with  vvJiich  virtue  and  freedom  invest  their  martyrs' 


DANIEL   WEBSTER. 


181 


and  we  see,  too,  "  chilled  and  shivering  childliood,  house 
less  but  for  a  mother's  arms,  couchless  hut  for  a  mother's 
breast,"  till  our  own  blood  almost  freezes. 

The  readiness  with  which  the  orator  compels  our 
sympathies  to  follow  his  own  is  again  illustrated  in  the 
orations  at  Bunker  Hill,  and  in  the  discourse  in  honor 
of  Adams  and  Jefferson.  In  reading  them,  we  feel  a 
new  pride  in  our  country,  and  in  the  great  men  and 
great  principles  it  has  cherished.  The  mind  feels  an 
unwonted  elevation,  and  the  heart  is  stirred  with  emo- 
tions of  more  than  common  depth,  by  their  majesty  and 
power.  Some  passages  are  so  graphic  and  true  that 
they  seem  gifted  with  a  voice,  and  to  speak  to  us  from 
the  page  they  illumine.  The  intensity  of  feeling  with 
which  they  are  pervaded  rises  at  times  from  confident 
hope  to  prophecy,  and  lifts  the  soul  as  with  wings.  In 
that  splendid  close  to  a  remarkable  passage  in  the  oration 
on  Adams  "and  Jefferson,  what  American  does  not  feel 
assured,  with  the  orator,  that  their  fame  will  be  immor- 
tal ?  "  Although  no  sculptured  marble  should  rise  to 
their  memory,  nor  engraved  stone  bear  record  to  their 
deeds,  yet  will  their  remembrance  be  as  lasting  as  the 
land  they  honored.  Marble  columns  may,  indeed,  moul- 
der into  dust,  time  may  erase  all  impress  from  the  crum- 
bling stone,  but  their  fame  remains ;  for  with  American 
Liberty  it  rose,  and  with  American  Liberty  only  can 
it  perish.  It  was  the  last  swelling  peal  of  yonder  choir, 
'  Their  bodies  are  buried  in  peace,  but  their  name 
liveth  evermore.'  I  catch  the  solemn  song,  I  echo 
that  lofty  strain  of  funeral  triumph, '  Their  name  liveth 
evermore.'  " 

Tbroughout  the  speeches  of  Mr.  Webster  we  perceive 
this  Twitional  spirit.     He  has  meditated  so  deeply  on  the 


XQSi  ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS. 

history,  the  formation,  and  the  tendencies  of  our  institu^ 
tions ;  he  is  so  well  acquainted  with  the  conduct  and 
opinions  of  every  statesman  who  has  affected  the  policv 
of  the  government ;  and  has  become  so  thoroughly  im- 
bued with  the  national  character,  that  his  sympathies 
naturally  flow  in  national  channels,  and  have  their  end 
and  object  in  the  land  of  his  birth  and  culture.  His 
motto  is,  "  Our  country,  our  whole  country,  and  nothing 
bat  our  country."  It  is  the  alpha  and  omega  of  his 
political  alphabet.  It  is  felt  in  his  blood,  and  "  felt  along 
his  heart."  It  is  twined  with  all  his  early  recollections, 
with  the  acts  of  his  life,  with  his  hopes,  his  ambition, 
and  his  fame.  Strike  it  from  his  works,  and  what  re- 
mains ? 

We  do  not  mean  that  Webster's  patriotism,  as  dis- 
played in  his  speeches,  is  a  blind,  unintelligent  impulse, 
leading  him  into  fanaticism,  and  inspiring  a  rash  confi- 
dence in  everything  American.  He  has  none  of  that 
overweening  conceit,  that  spirit  of  bravado,  that  ignorant 
contempt  for  other  countries,  that  undiscerning  worship 
of  his  own,  which  have  done  so  much  to  make  patriotism 
a  convertible  term  for  cant  or  folly.  His  opinions  belong 
not  to  the  same  class  with  those  which  are  "  equivocally 
generated  by  the  heat  of  fervid  tempers  out  of  the  over- 
flowings of  tumid  imaginations."  He  goes  deeper  than 
declamation,  when  his  country  is  his  theme.  He  is  too 
profound  a  student  of  government  and  human  nature  to 
indulge  in  "  Fourth  of  July  orations."  In  nothing  is  his 
love  of  country  more  manifest  than  in  the  sense  he  has 
of  its  dangers.  His  voice  is  raised  to  warn  as  well  as  to 
animate.  A  warm  enthusiasm  for  popular  rights  is  often 
accompanied  by  recklessness  in  the  use  of  means ;  and 
mere  mouthing,  in  such  instances,  is  so  apt  to  be  con- 


DANIEL    WliBSTER.  183 

founded  with  eloquent  patriotism,  that  a  man  who  breasts 
the  flood,  instead  of  being  whirled  along  with  it,  subjects 
himseii  to  the  charge  ol"  opposing  the  cause  of  humanity 
and  freedom.  His  firmness  at  such  periods  is  the  test 
of  his  patriotism.  Forms  are  liable  to  be  overthrown 
and  trampled  under  foot,  in  the  march  of  a  victorious 
party,  flushed  with  warm  anticipations  and  mad  with 
zeal.  In  every  free  community,  there  are  many  whose 
quick  sensibilities  would  lead  them  at  any  moment  to 
barter  the  slow  gatherings  of  years  of  experience  for  one 
mad  plunge  into  untried  experiment.  In  nothing  is  the 
statesmanship  of  Mr.  Webster  better  displayed  than  in 
the  strength  with  which  he  combats  fanciful  theories  of 
impracticable  reforms,  and  the  sturdiness  with  which  he 
intrenches  himself  in  principles  which  have  stood  the 
test  of  experience.  His  patriotism  "looks  before  and 
after."  He  would  defend  what  liberty  we  possess  from 
the  impetuosity  of  those  who  are  clamorous  for  more. 
All  encroachments  of  power  on  right  and  precedent,  for 
whatever  purpose  they  may  be  designed,  he  resists  with 
the  full  force  of  his  nature.  His  notion  of  the  duty  of  a 
representative  of  the  people,  and  the  cautious  jealousy 
with  which  he  would  view  the  slightest  attack  upon 
established  declarations  and  safeguards,  may  be  gleaned 
from  his  speech  on  the  President's  Protest.  "We  have 
been  taught,"  he  says,  "  to  regard  a  representative  of  the 
people  as  a  sentinel  on  the  watch-tower  of  liberty.  Is  he 
to  be  blind,  though  visible  danger  approaches  ?  Is  he  to 
be  deaf,  though  sounds  of  peril  fill  the  air?  Is  he  to  b« 
dumb  while  a  tiiousand  duties  impel  him  to  raise  the 
or}'  of  alarm  ?  Is  he  not,  rather,  to  catch  the  lowest 
wrhisper  which  breathes  intention  or  purpose  of  encroach- 
ment on  'he  public  liberties,  and  to  give  his  voice  breath 


184  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS, 

and  utterance  at  the  first  appearance  of  tlange,  ?  Is  not 
his  eye  to  traverse  the  whole  horizon,  with  the  keen  and 
eager  vision  of  an  unhooded  hawk,  detecting,  through  all 
disguises,  every  enemy  advancing,  in  any  form,  towards 
the  citadel  he  guards  ?  " 

Again  he  lays:  —  "The  spirit  of  liberty  is,  indeed,  a 
bold  and  fearless  spirit;  but  it  is  also  a  sharp-sighted 
spirit ;  it  is  a  cautious,  sagacious,  discriminating,  far- 
seeing  intelligence;  it  is  jealous  of  encroachment,  jealous 
of  power,  jealous  of  man.  It  demands  checks  ;  it  seeks 
for  guards ;  it  insists  on  securities ;  it  intrenches  itself 
behind  strong  defences,  and  fortifies,  with  all  possible 
care,  against  the  assaults  of  ambition  and  passion." 

Sentiments  similar  to  these  are  found  in  all  portions 
of  his  political  discourses.  They  have  nothing  in  com- 
mon with  that  shrinking  timidity  of  conservatism,  which 
fears  everything  new,  for  the  reason  that  it  is  new ;  but 
they-  evince  the  profound  knowledge  and  wisdom  of  one 
whose  studies  and  experience  have  led  him  to  look  for 
theories  of  free  government  in  other  sources  than  the 
imagination  and  sensibility ;  of  one  who  knows  when  it 
is  proper  to  watch  the  approach  of  enemies,  and  when 
to  march  to  the  attack  of  abuses ;  and  of  one  who  is 
aware  that  patriotism  and  courage  are  as  often  displayed 
in  resisting  the  impulses  of  the  time,  as  in  being  borne 
forward  on  their  fiery  course.  The  mind  of  BIr.  Web- 
ster is  eminently  comprehensive,  and  fitted  for  large 
speculations.  Its  range  is  so  wide,  that  there  is  little 
Sanger  of  its  being  fixed  permanently  on  one  department 
of  thought,  to  the  exclusion  of  others.  It  is  not  a  mere 
reasoning  machine.  It  is  neither  misled  by  its  own  sub- 
tilty,  nor  bewildered  by  the  fallacies  of  the  feelings.  It 
is  rather  telesconic  than  microscopic,  —  more  conversant 


DANIEL    WEBSTER. 


185 


with  great  principles  than  minute  distinctions.  In  his 
speeches,  we  are  struck  more  by  tlie  general  mental 
power  they  display,  than  by  the  preponderance  of  any 
particular  faculty.  Through  them  all  we  perceive  the 
movement  of  an  intellect  strong  enough  to  grapple  with 
any  subject,  and  capacious  enough  to  comprehend  it,  both 
in  itself  and  in  its  relations.  Force  and  clearness  of 
conception,  exact  analysis,  skilful  arrangement,  a  sharp 
logical  ability,  and  a  keen  insight,  "  outrunning  the  de- 
ductions of  logic,"  indicate  a  mind  well  calculated  for 
the  investigation  of  truth  and  the  detection  of  error;  a 
mind  capable  of  testing  the  validity  of  principles  by  the 
usual  processes  of  reasoning,  and  of  penetrating  through 
all  the  heavy  panoply  of  argument  in  which  falsehood  is 
often  concealed.  His  common  sense,  a  quality  which 
does  not  always  accompany  mental  power,  is  as  promi- 
nent as  his  dialectical  skill.  Folly,  assumption,  fallacy, 
however  cunningly  hid  in  metaphor  or  formula,  cannot 
stand  for  one  moment  the  piercing  glance  of  his  intellect. 
He  seems  to  have  a  feeling  and  sense  of  the  false  and 
baseless,  as  well  as  the  capacity  to  expose  it  by  logical 
methods.  He  tears  away  the  labored  defences  of  a 
sophism,  and  exhibits  it  to  the  light  in  its  native  little- 
ness and  deformity;  or,  perhaps,  in  the  consciousness 
and  plenitude  of  power,  he  will  play  with  it  a  while,  and 
make  it  the  butt  of  sarcastic  trifling,  and  cluster  around  it 
all  the  phrases  and  images  of  contempt,  and  then  spurn 
it  from  his  path  as  a  thing  too  mean  even  for  scorn. 

His  understanding  embraces  the  whole  extent  of  a 
subject,  methodizes  its  complicated  details,  discerns  its 
general  laws  and  their  remote  applications,  and  exhibits 
the  whole  to  view  with  a  clearness  of  arrangement  which 
renders  it  perceptible  to  the  simplest  apprehension.     As 


1S6  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

a  reasoner,  he  has  hardly  an  equal  among  his  country- 
men, eitiier  in  the  sharp,  swift,  close  argumentation  of 
vehement  debate,  or  in  the  calm  survey  and  powerful 
combination  of  facts  and  principles.  Some  may  excel 
him  in  the  discussion  of  abstract  questions,  —  ques- 
tions which  rather  require  fineness  than  depth  or  reach 
of  thought,  and  which  have  no  immediate  relation  to 
practical  life;  but  none,  in  that  large  inductive  method, 
which  comprehends  all  the  facts  that  lead  to  general 
laws,  and  modifies  all  general  laws  when  used  as  prin- 
ciples of  action.  He  is  also  powerful  in  reasoning  d 
•priori,  if  the  term  be  admissible,  —  of  applying  universal 
principles  of  reason  or  morals  to  particular  cases,  and 
forcing  the  mind  into  assent  to  their  application  ;  which 
is,  perhaps,  a  greater  sign  of  genius,  than  slowly  travel- 
ling up  the  ladder  of  induction,  and  arriving  at  a  genera, 
law  by  successive  steps  :  but  in  these,  the  deductive 
processes  of  his  intellect,  he  never  becomes  a  reasoning 
fanatic,  pushing  one  idea  to  its  remotest  results,  without 
regard  to  its  limitations. 

Many  examples  might  be  selected,  in  illustration  of 
his  felicitous  use  of  great  sentiments  and  universal  ideas, 
in  elucidating  a  question  of  national  policy  or  constitu- 
tional law.  We  believe,  that  the  power  to  grasp,  and 
rightly  to  employ,  these  ideas  and  sentiments,  constitutes 
the  difference  between  a  great  reasoner  and  a  mere 
subtile  logician.  It  is  certain,  that  skill  in  dialectics  is 
more  an  art  than  an  effort  of  genius.  The  merit  of 
picking  flaws  in  an  argument  is  about  on  a  par  with  the 
ability  displayed  by  young  rhetoricians,  fresh  frr ua  Blair, 
in  detecting  faults  in  the  sentences  of  Addison  and 
Burke.  It  is  merely  a  knack.  Many  a  young  lawyer 
at  the  bar  has  nearly  as  much  of  it  as  can  be  found  in 


DANIEL    WEBSTER,  18^ 

Chillingworth  or  Butler.  It  is  little  better  than  quib- 
bling, and  is  within  the  reach  of  any  who  have  sufficient 
ingenuity  to  make  a  pun.  Constantly  practised,  it  viti- 
ates and  narrows  the  rnind,  and  renders  it  sceptical  on 
trifles,  only  to  make  it  dogmatic  on  things  of  import- 
ance. At  all  events,  it  cannot  be  called  force  of  thought, 
and  is  altogether  unfitted  for  the  discussion  of  great 
practical  questions. 

The  power  of  Mr.  Webster's  mind  is  seen  to  greatest 
advantage  when  employed  on  questions  relating  to  uni- 
versal truths  in  morals,  in  government,  and  in  religion. 
He  then  displays  a  grandeur  and  elevation  of  thought, 
a  confidence  in  the  permanence  of  principle,  a  free- 
dom from  the  technicalities  of  the  lawyer  and  politician, 
and  a  ponderous  might  of  expression,  which  convey 
a  stronger  impression  of  the  essential  greatness  of  the 
man,  than  his  most  celebrated  triumphs  over  personal 
adversaries,  and  his  most  overpowering  declamation  in 
debate.  In  these  examples  there  is  a  union  of  calmness 
and  energy,  a  grave,  severe,  determined,  almost  oracular, 
enunciation  of  lofty  truths,  and  a  trust  in  the  eventual 
triumph  of  the  eternal  principles  of  justice  and  equity, 
before  which  all  the  subtle  speculation  of  the  sophist, 
and  all  the  philosophy  of  the  worldling,  appear  tame 
and  debasing.  This  grandeur  of  moral  tone,  accompa- 
nying the  most  daring  exercise  of  the  understanding, 
and  giving  to  abstractions  a  power  to  thrill  the  blood 
and  kindle  the  noblest  affections,  —  this  soaring  of  the 
soul  above  the  common  maxims  which  regulate  exist- 
ence, and  bringing  down  wisdom  from  on  high  to  shame 
authority  into  acquiescence,  is  the  more  remarkable  as 
coming  from  a  practical  statesman,  whose  life  for  thirty 
years  has  been  passed  in  the  turmoil  of  politics.     That 


188  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS, 

a  man  ex})osed  to  such  influences  should  preserve 
steady  faith  in  ideas  and  principles,  should  rise  con 
tinually  above  the  question  and  policy  of  the  hour, 
should  accustom  his  intellect  to  the  contemplation  of 
eternal  truths,  must  appear  an  anomaly  to  a  large 
majority  of  politicians.  Perhaps,  if  they  would  reflect 
more  deeply  on  the  matter,  they  would  discover,  that 
even  in  political  life,  more  real  confidence  is  reposed  in 
a  man  of  this  stability  and  grasp  of  intellect,  and  force  of 
moral  principle,  than  in  the  cunning  trimmer,  who  shifts 
his  ground  with  every  change  of  national  feeling,  who 
relies  for  favor  on  giving  a  brilliant  echo  to  every  shout 
of  the  multitude,  and  who  keeps  faith  with  nothing  but 
his  selfish  interest  or  his  ravenous  vanity. 

In  that  noble  burst  of  eloquence,  in  the  speech  on  the 
Gi'eek  Revolution,  in  which  he  asserts  the  power  of  the 
moral  sense  of  the  world,  in  checking  the  dominion  of 
brute  force,  and  rendering  insecure  the  spoils  of  success- 
ful oppression,  we  have  a  strong  instance  of  his  reliance 
on  the  triumph  of  right  over  might. 

"  This  public  opinion  of  the  civilized  world,"  he  says,  "  may 
be  silenced  by  military  power,  but  it  cannot  be  conquered.  It 
is  elastic,  irrepressible,  and  invulnerable  to  the  weapons  of 
ordinary  power.  It  follows  the  conqueror  back  to  the  verj 
scene  of  his  ovations;  it  calls  upon  him  to  take  notice,  that 
Europe,  though  silent,  is  yet  indignant ;  it  shows  him,  that  the 
sceptre  of  his  victory  is  a  barren  sceptre,  that  it  shall  confer 
neither  joy  nor  honor,  bm  shall  moulder  to  dry  ashes  in  his 
grasp.  In  the  midst  of  his  exultation,  it  pierces  his  ear  with  the 
cry  of  injured  justice,  it  denounces  against  him  the  indignation 
of  an  enlightened  and  civilized  age  ,-  it  turns  to  bitterness  the 
cup  of  his  rejoicing,  and  wounds  him  \rith  the  sting  which 
belongs  to  the  consciousness  of  having  outraged  the  opirion  of 
mankind." 


DANIF.L    WEBSTER.  189 

The  most  splendid  image  to  be  found  in  any  of  his 
\A'orlvS  closes  a  passage  in  which  he  attempts  to  prove 
that  our  fathers  accomplished  the  Revolution  on  a  strict 
question  of  principle. 

"  It  -was  against  the  recital  of  an  act  of  parliament,  rather 
than  against  any  suffering  under  its  enactments,  that  they  took 
up  arms.  They  went  to  war  against  a  preamble  !  They  fought 
seven  years  against  a  declaration.  They  poured  out  their  treas- 
ures and  their  blood  like  water,  in  a  contest  in  opposition  to  an 
assertion,  which  those  less  sagacious,  and  not  so  well  schooled 
in  the  principles  of  civil  liberty,  would  have  regarded  as  barren 

•phraseology,  or  mere  parade  of  words On  this  question 

of  principle,  while  actual  suffering  was  yet  afar  off,  they  raised 
their  flag  against  a  power,  to  which,  for  purposes  of  foreign 
conquest  and  subjugation,  Rome,  in  the  height  of  her  glory,  is 
not  to  be  compared,  —  a  power  which  has  dotted  over  the  sur- 
face of  the  whole  globe  with  her  possessions  and  military  posts, 
whose  morning  drum-beat,  following  the  sun,  and  keeping  com- 
pany with  the  hours,  circles  the  earth  daily  with  one  continuous 
and  unbroken  strain  of  the  martial  airs  of  England." 

This  passage  is  worthy  the  attention  of  those  who 
think  that  Mr.  Webster  is  too  practical  in  his  system  of 
politics  to  allow  his  mind  to  be  swayed  by  any  great 
general  ideas  and  principles.  It  would  not  be  difficult 
to  select  other  passages  displaying  an  equally  firm  faith 
in  the  supremacy  of  truth  and  right.  The  jealous  eye 
;vith  which  he  watches  the  smallest  encroachments  on 
established  safeguards  of  liberty,  is  another  illustration 
of  his  habit  of  looking  at  the  principles  and  tendencies 
of  things,  rather  than  at  their  specious  shows.  In  truth, 
in  all  questions  relating  to  life  and  duty,  whether  the 
mind  declares  what  may  be  or  what  must  be,  whether  it 
declares  probabilities  or  certainties,  his  understanding  is 
never  found  deficient  in  insight  or  comprehension. 


190  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

To  this  power  of  intellect,  thus  capable  of  such 
various  exercise,  and  restrained  from  sophistical  aber- 
rations by  such  strength  of  moral  sentiment,  it  is  owing, 
that  Mr.  Webster's  speeches  have  that  character  of 
solidity  which  has  been  so  often  acknowledged  and 
so  loudly  praised.  There  is  substance  and  body  in 
them.  They  do  not  crush  in  the  hand,  like  so  many 
refined  reasonings  and  so  much  declamatory  rhetoric. 
They  are,  in  some  respects,  authorities  on  the  subjects 
of  which  they  treat  In  them  a  person  is  enabled  to 
obtain  a  view  of  the  different  political  theories  and  prac- 
tices which  divide  the  nation  into  parties,  without  any 
of  the  extravagance  and  perversions  of  the  mere  advo- 
cate and  partisan.  Holding  on  to  his  own  principles 
with  a  grasp  of  iron,  despising  all  shifts  to  accommodate 
them  to  popular  prejudice,  and  expressing  them  with  a 
force  derived  from  his  whole  nature,  he  still  never 
indulges  in  the  ranting  subterfuges  of  the  one-sided 
politician,  and  is  no  spendthrift  of  invective  in  opposing 
the  champions  of  different  measures.  If  the  stern,  rapid 
argument  of  his  speeches  be  compared,  or  rather  con- 
trasted, with  the  fanatical  fury  which  disgraces  so  many 
political  discourses,  delivered  by  men  of  both  parties,  the 
distinction  we  desire  to  make  will  be  more  clearly 
observed  than  by  any  description  it  is  in  our  power 
to  give. 

We  have  incidentally  seen,  in  these  remarks,  that  the 
sensibility  of  Mr.  Webster,  though  not  dominant,  is  deep 
and  strong.  No  American  writer  has  more  fire  in  his 
productions.  His  passions,  when  roused,  seem  to  per- 
vade his  intellect,  and  give  it  additional  clearness  and 
power.  The  same  impulses  which  blind,  confuse,  or 
madden  others,  and  lead  them  astray  from  their  objects, 


DANILL    WEBSTER.  191 

only  affei't  him  by  giving  a  quicker  spring  to  his  style, 
and  more  intensity  and  vehemence  to  his  reasoning. 
His  sensibility  is  not  the  master,  but  the  ally,  of  his 
understanding.  It  never  forces  his  mind  into  passionate 
fallacies,  nor  substitutes  declamation  for  argument ;  but 
It  sharpens  his  insight,  it  condenses  and  vivifies  his  dic- 
tion, and  infuses  into  his  "  ponderous  syllables  "  a  fiery 
energy,  by  which  they  smite  their  objects  with  an  over- 
powering eflfect.  The  fact  that  there  is  such  a  mass  of 
intellectual  power  behind  liis  sensibility,  to  fix,  condense, 
and  direct  its  mighty  impulses,  confers  upon  it  greater 
potency  than  if  it  swept  along  with  more  uncontrolled 
fierceness,  and  prompted  more  daring  flights.  It  addresses 
the  heart  and  the  understanding  at  the  same  moment. 
It  forces  the  mind  directly  along  the  path  of  clear  reason- 
ing to  the  object  in  view.  It  is  argument,  but  argument 
gifted  with  muscular  life  and  energy ;  it  is  reason,  but 
"  reason  penetrated,  and  made,  as  it  were,  red-hot  with 
passion." 

There  are  occasions  when  Mr.  Webster's  sensibility  is 
less  under  his  control,  —  when  it  gives  out  scorn  and 
denunciation, 

"  As  the  rock 
Gives  out  the  reddening,  roaring  fire  ;" 

but  generally  it  is  exercised  in  the  service  of  reason 
When  attacked,  he  has  his  faculties  most  under  th* 
guidance  of  his  judgment,  and  deals  back  blow  for  blow 
with  ten-fold  force,  from  being  able  to  concentrate  hi:; 
powers.  There  is  a  provoking  condescension,  even  in 
his  wrath,  which  must  be  more  galling  to  an  adver- 
sary than  the  most  ungovernable  outbreak  of  rage  and 
invective.     Passion,  to  a  debater,  is  the  most  useful  of 


192  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

servants  and  the  most  tyrannical  of  masters.  W  hen  it 
leads  to  shrewishness,  or  petulance,  or  wild  sophistries, 
or  malignant  hatred,  it  vitiates  the  intellect  and  en- 
feebles the  judgment.  Statesmen  and  orators  who  have 
mingled  much  in  the  warfare  of.  debate  have  rarely 
preserved  a  due  medium  between  fury  and  ncmcha- 
lance.  The  strong  understanding  of  Edmund  Burke 
was  not  proof  against  the  delusions  of  his  feelings.  It 
has  been  said  of  him,  that  he  chose  his  position  like  a 
lanatic,  and  defended  it  like  a  philosopher.  We  some- 
times find  in  his  writings  an  almost  gigantic  power  of 
reasoning,  exercised  to  defend  an  unreasonable  prejudice; 
and  an  exhaustless  fertility  of  fancy,  employed  to  adorn 
ft  rotten  institution.  In  the  fierce  sway  which  his  sensi- 
bility sometimes  obtained  over  his  other  powers,  his  dig- 
nity and  self-possession  were  often  lost ;  and  he  directed 
some  of  the  most  potent  efforts  of  his  genius  against 
those  self-evident  truths  which  no  dialectical  skill  can 
overthrow.  Lord  Brougham's  large  acquirements  and 
high  position  do  not  preserve  him  from  the  servitude  of 
petulance  and  rage.  Many  of  his  later  speeches  are  the 
offspring  of  excitement  and  whim,  valuable  chiefly  to 
show  that  the  mere  scolding  of  a  great  man  is  not  with- 
out its  eloquence. 

We  have  referred  to  the  strength  of  personal  character 
which  the  productions  of  Mr.  Webster  evince.  This,  we 
think,  is  to  be  attributed,  in  a  great  degree,  to  the  depth 
and  intensity  of  his  feelings,  and  especially  to  his  pas- 
sions. Mental  power,  alone,  could  not  have  sustained 
him  in  the  many  emergencies  of  his  political  position. 
No  one  can  read  his  works  without  being  struck  with 
the  stout  courage,  both  moral  and  physical,  with  which 
they  are  animated.     He  never  seems  touched  with  fear 


DANIEL   WEBSTER.  193 

or  irresolufion.  The  hall  of  debate  is  not  so  dangerous, 
to  be  sure,  as  the  field  of  battle;  but  we  can  conceive  of 
valor  which  would  brave  the  cannon's  mouth,  and  yet 
shrink  from  the  trials  and  responsibilities  of  political 
warfare.  Not  only  is  a  man  obliged  to  repel  personal 
attack,  but  character,  station,  and  influence,  are  perilled 
by  the  speech  or  the  decision  of  the  moment.  A  mere 
passionate  partisan,  whose  insignificance  is  his  shield 
from  the  scorn  of  posterity,  can  ill  appreciate  the  respon- 
sibility which  presses  on  the  heart  of  the  great  states- 
man. The  latter  is  acting  in  the  very  eye  of  history ; 
indeed,  he  is  living  history.  His  vote  and  his  opinions 
are  to  be  remembered  against  him,  if  they  support  a 
pernicious  law,  or  spring  from  ignorance  or  excitement. 
His  advocacy  or  denunciation  of  a  measure  is  to  aflfect 
for  evil  or  good  the  condition  of  millions.  His  con- 
science, his  patriotism,  all  the  conservative  principles  of 
his  nature,  though  they  would  impel  him  to  act  and 
speak  for  the  right,  are  liable  to  perplex  his  determina- 
tions, if  they  are  not  based  on  clear  conceptions  of  the 
subject.  With  posterity  and  its  inevitable  verdict  before 
him,  and  a  clamorous  party,  urging  him  to  do  every 
thing  unreasonable,  at  his  back,  he  is  forced  to  come  to 
a  decision,  and  maintain  it  with  his  whole  power.  To 
do  this  requires  courage  and  resolution.  Now,  if  we 
examine  Mr.  Webster's  speeches,  we  find  that  they  dis- 
play no  disposition  to  shrink  from  the  consequences  of 
his  conduct,  no  evasion  of  responsibility,  no  expressions 
studiously  framed  to  bear  two  interpretations,  but  a 
plain,  sturdy,  unflinching  expression  of  judgment,  forti- 
fied by  clear  arguments,  and  ever  ready  to  be  tried  by 
the  result.  This  intellectual  hardihood,  unaffected  by 
sceptical  distrust,  and  daring  the  verdict  of  the  present 
13 


194  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

and  the  future,  must  be  deemed  a  great  quality  by  a*, 
capable  of  appreciating  it.  If  the  measure  smpported  be 
evil,  he  is  to  suffer  from  one  of  two  imputations.  If  his 
conduct  sprung  from  ignorance  or  rashness,  it  is  folly ; 
if  it  sprung  from  selfishness,  it  is  crime.  In  view  of  this 
fact,  a  little  timidity  is  excusable  in  a  statesman  placed 
in  a  prominent  station,  whose  opinions  are  axioms  to 
great  parties,  and  who  is  surrounded  by  partisans  and 
enemies,  while  all  his  acts  and  words  are  scrutinized 
with  the  sharp  analysis  of  malice  and  hatred ;  and  it 
requires  the  rare  union  of  a  piercing  and  comprehensive 
intellect  with  great  force  of  character,  to  enable  a  man 
to  act,  in  such  a  position,  with  wisdom,  boldness,  and 
decision. 

Much  has  been  said  and  written  in  praise  of  Mr. 
Webster's  imagination,  often,  we  think,  from  overlooking 
the  claims  of  his  understanding  and  sensibility.  A  care- 
ful examination  of  his  works  will  lead  us  to  speak  more 
guardedly  of  the  degree  in  which  he  possesses  this  fac- 
ulty. We  think  that  loftiness  of  sentiment,  reach  of 
thought,  and  depth  of  passion,  are  more  apparent  than 
affluence  of  imagery.  Imagination,  however,  is  a  word 
so  loosely  employed,  that,  in  the  common  meaning  of  the 
term,  it  would  be  no  compliment  to  apply  it  to  any  man 
of  large  intellect.  The  same  term  which  is  applied  to 
the  most  marked  characteristic  of  Shakspeare's  "  Tem- 
pest," is  indiscriminately  used  in  speaking  of  some  florid 
oration,  or  some  wild  nonsense  of  passion.  A  poem  is 
published,  teeming  with  absurdities,  and  full  of  confused 
rant  and  bloated  metaphors,  and  its  faults  are  ascribed  to 
an  excess  of  imagination.  A  speaker  indulges  in  the 
wiliest  vagaries  of  sentimentality, — talks  about  the  stars 
the  ocean,  the  progress  of  the  species,  and  jumbles  them 


DANIEL    WEBSTEK.  195 

all  up  in  one  series  of  worthless  figures ;  and  sensible 
people  call  him  a  fool,  but  a  fool  by  virtue  of  his  strc  ng 
imagination.  Flowery  and  feeble  declaimers  —  vvTif-rs 
like  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hervey,  orators  like  Counsellor  Phil- 
lips—  are  arcused  of  possessing  imagination.  Thus  a 
term,  which,  more  than  any  other  in  the  vocabulary  of 
criticism,  requires  to  be  employed  cautiously  and  with 
qualifications,  is  made  a  convenient  word  to  cover  the 
feebleness  of  a  critic's  insight  and  the  clumsiness  of  his 
analysis. 

The  imagination,  "the  vision  and  the  faculty  divnie," 
is  by  no  means  predominant  in  Mr.  Webster's  mind. 
With  him,  it  is  not  a  spontaneous,  shaping  power,  but 
acts  chiefly  at  the  direction  of  reason  and  feeling,  and  i$ 
most  fruitful  when  his  intellect  is  most  active  in  its  oper- 
ations. Many  of  its  analogies  may  be  referred  to  the 
reason.  The  images  which  it  calls  up  are  generally 
broad,  distinct,  and  vivid,  speaking  directly  to  the  eye, 
and  informed  with  the  feeling  of  the  moment ;  but  it  has 
little  of  that  subtile  influence  which  touches  minute 
shades  of  feeling,  suggests  remote  analogies,  sheds  inef- 
fable beauty  over  the  common  realities  of  life,  detects  the 
latent  spiritual  meaning  beneath  rough  forms,  and  com- 
bines things  seemingly  diflerent  into  one  consistent 
whole.  Its  power  bears  little  comparison  with  the  power 
of  the  understanding  which  directs  it,  —  an  understand- 
ing which  often  dives  deeper  and  soars  higher  than  his 
imagination,  with  the  disadvantage  of  acting  under  more 
laborious  processes.  In  some  of  his  most  splendid  eflbrts, 
his  imagination  works  rather  by  allusion  than  creation  ;  by 
vivifying  and  applying  old  images  and  forms  of  expres- 
sion, than  by  originating  new.  Throughout  the  speech 
ill  reply  to  Haj  iie,  there  is  a  coastant  reference  tc  figures 


196  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

and  ph/ases  which  are  in  the  memories  of  all  who  have 
studied  Milton,  Shakspeare,  and  the  Bible.  Though 
suggested  and  applied  to  his  own  purposes  by  the  imagi- 
nation, and  wonderfully  felicitous  in  their  introduction, 
they  still  receive  their  great  effect  from  the  spirit  and 
feeling  with  which  they  are  pervaded.  Indeed,  if  Mr. 
Webster's  invention  were  equal  to  his  understanding,  he 
would  be  a  poet  before  whose  genius  the  brightest  names 
in  our  literature  would  "  pale  their  ineffectual  fires." 
The  mere  fact  that  his  imagination  is  subsidiary  to  his 
reasoning  powers,  and  that  its  products  are  not  esteemed 
of  equal  value,  proves  that  it  is  relatively  inferior. 

The  imagination  of  Mr.  Webster,  if  not  that  of  a 
poet,  is  eminently  the  imagination  which  befits  an  ora- 
tor and  debater.  A  statesman,  who  is  to  present  his 
views  on  a  question  of  national  policy  in  lucid  order,  and 
to  illustrate  them  by  familiar  pictures,  would  fail  in 
attaining  his  object,  if  he  substituted  fancies  for  reason, 
or  linked  his  reasoning  with  too  subtile  images.  Mr, 
Webster's  imagination  never  leads  him  astray  from  his 
logic,  but  only  illumines  the  path.  It  is  no  delicate 
Ariel,  sporting  with  abstract  thought,  and  clothing  it  in 
a  succession  of  pleasing  shapes ;  but  a  power  fettered  by 
the  chain  of  argument  it  brightens.  Even  in  his  noblest 
bursts  of  eloquence,  we  are  struck  rather  by  the  eleva- 
tion of  the  feeling,  than  the  vigor  of  the  imagination. 
For  instance,  in  the  Bunker  Hill  oration,  he  closes  an 
animated  passage  with  the  well-known  sentence,  —  "  Let 
it  rise  till  it  meet  the  sun  in  his  coming ;  let  the  earliest 
ight  of  morning  gild  it,  and  parting  day  litiger  and  play 
upon  its  summit."  If  we  take  from  this  passage  all  the 
phrases  which  are  not  strictly  original,  and  separate  the 
sentiment  from  the  invention,  we  shall  find  that  it  is  not 


DANIEL    WEBSTER.  197 

tminently  creative.  Wordsworth  in  one  word  conveys  a 
similar  but  more  subtile  imagination,  in  the  lines  com- 
mencing, 

"  There  is  an  eminence,  of  these  our  hills, 
The  last  that/j(ir/ei/s  with  the  setting  sun." 

When  we  consider,  that  the  first  comes  from  a  mmd  in 
that  excited  state  which  prompts  great  images,  and  that 
the  other  is  conceived  in  the  calm  of  thought,  we  see 
the  difference  between  a  mind  habitually  looking  at 
things  with  the  eye  of  the  understanding,  and  a  mind 
habitually  looking  at  things  with  the  eye  of  imagina- 
tion. Again,  it  would  be  difficult  to  believe  that  the 
sound  of  exquisite  music  would  suggest  to  a  mind  like 
Mr.  Webster's  an  image  of  such  grace,  fineness,  and 
beauty,  as  the  following  from  Shelley :  — 

"  My  soul  is  an  enchanted  boat, 
Which,  like  a  sleeping  swan,  doth  float 

Upon  the  silver  waves  of  thy  sweet  singing ; 
And  thine  doth  like  an  angel  sit 
Beside  the  helm,  conducting  it, 

While  all  the  winds  with  melody  are  ringing." 

Here,  the  most  inexpressible  of  all  sweet  emotions  is 
shaped  into  a  palpable  form.  Shelley,  we  know,  is  an 
extreme  case,  but  therefore  the  best  to  illustrate  the  dis- 
tinction we  wish  to  make. 

Mr.  Webster  is  celebrated  for  his  use  of  images  drawn 
from  familiar  objects.  Here,  likewise,  we  discern  the 
difference  between  the  poet's  imagination  and  the  imag- 
ination of  the  orator  and  reasoner.  The  products  of  the 
one  are  of  "  imagination  all  compact,"  and  those  of  the 
other  can  be  easily  distinguished  from  the  idea  they 
illustrate       From   Shelley,   a   multitude   of    examples 


198  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

might  be  taken,  in  which  the  most  familiar  things  are 
linked  with  the  most  profound  and  most  recondite  analo- 
gies. We  will  quote  one  from  his  prose  works,  as  a 
specimen.  "  The  mind  in  inspiration  is  a  fading  coal, 
which  some  inconstant  influence,  like  an  invisible  wind, 
wakes  into  momentary  brightness."  In  this,  the  imag- 
ination not  only  suggests  the  analogy,  but  selects,  with 
unerring  tact,  the  words  which  best  convey  it  to  other 
imaginations ;  and  yet,  to  Shelley,  the  whole  process  of 
its  conception  and  expression  was  as  natural  an  exercise 
of  his  peculiar  mind,  as  to  Mr.  Webster  would  be  the 
deduction  of  a  conclusion  from  a  premise.  Indeed,  we 
think  that  those  who  assert  for  our  great  statesman  the 
inventive  power  of  a  poet,  misconceive  both  poetry  and 
him.  The  most  rapid  glance  at  his  productions  shows 
that  he  lacks  the  inwardness,  the  brooding  spirit,  which 
characterizes  those  men  who  "  accommodate  the  shows 
of  things  to  the  desires  of  the  mind."  With  all  his 
tremendous  power  of  thinking,  he  has  little  thoughtful- 
ness,  —  little  of  the  habit  of  quiet  meditation.  He 
could  do  things  worthy  of  being  recorded  in  a  great 
poem ;  but  he  could  not  write  a  great  poem. 

We  do  not  know  but  that  this  predominance  of  the 
reasoning  over  the  imaginative  power,  in  Mr.  Webster's 
mind,  is  owing  to  the  severe  training  to  which  his  facul- 
ties have  been  subjected  in  the  exercise  of  his  profession. 
It  is  said  that  the  compositions  of  his  youth  were  more 
replete  with  images  than  arguments.  But  however 
this  may  be,  it  is  certain  that  his  manhood  has  witnessed 
the  triumph  of  his  understanding  over  the  impulses  of 
his  pas-sioiis  and  the  analogies  of  his  fancy:  If  one  of  his 
speeches  be  compared  with  one  of  Burke's  or  Curran's, 
it  will  be  seen  that  in  affluence  of  imagination  he  doea 


DANIEL   WEBSTER.  199 

not  hold  the  first  rank  among  orators.  The  writings  and 
speeches  of  Burke's  later  years  are  studded  all  over  with 
images.  So  capricious  and  wayward  was  his  imagina- 
tion, that  it  scattered  its  rich  treasures  on  themes  the 
least  congenial  to  the  faculty,  and  the  least  apt  to  be 
benefited  by  its  exercise.  It  began  to  work,  the  moment 
he  began  to  Avrite  or  speak.  Analogies  of  the  under- 
standing and  analogies  of  fancy  are  blended  somewhat 
confusedly  in  many  of  his  discourses,  where  the  subject 
demanded  a  rigid  adherence  to  reason.  Allusions,  meta- 
phors, comparisons,  cluster  thickly  round  almost  every 
argument.  The  clear,  keen,  penetrating  logic,  casting 
aside  everything  which  does  not  immediately  aid  the 
progress  of  the  discussion,  and  piercing  through  all 
obstacles  straight  to  the  object,  is  often  wanting.  The 
very  quality  of  mind  which  lends  such  vividness  and 
beauty  to  his  diction,  and  which  will  ever  make  his  works 
of  inestimable  value  to  men  of  taste,  often  interfered  with 
the  free  exercise  of  his  great  understanding,  and  with  the 
intensity  and  condensation  of  its  expression. 

Curran,  whose  reasoning  capacity,  however,  was  alto- 
gether inferior  to  Burke's,  affords  another  instance.  No 
one  can  read  his  speeches  without  seeing  their  admirable 
adaptation  to  the  object  jf  inflaming  the  passions  and 
stimulating  the  imagination.  The  energy  of  his  mind 
strikes  us  not  so  much  as  its  exceeding  fruitfulness. 
Byron  said  that  he  had  heard  him  speak  more  poetry 
than  he  had  ever  seen  written.  Images,  sometimes 
coarse  and  flaring,  often  in  a  high  degree  vivid  and 
magnificent,  and  always  vigorous  and  apposite,  are 
poured  out  lavishly  over  every  page  of  his  imperfectly 
reported  speed  les.  But  the  faults  of  such  a  style  are  as 
apparent  as  its  beauties.     It  may  serve  before  a  jury  or 


200  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

a  "  caucus  ; "  but  it  would  be  out  of  place  in  the  senate. 
A  practical  statesman,  whose  mind  was  under  the 
dominion  of  such  an  enchanter,  would  be  liable  to  lose 
the  confidence  of  his  constituents,  —  would  be  apt  to  lose 
the  confidence  of  his  own  understanding.  There  is  an 
eloquence,  grave,  majestic,  pervaded  by  deep  feeling, 
expressing  the  loftiest  principles  of  moral  and  political 
duty,  replete  with  generous  sentiment,  and  by  no  means 
destitute  of  vivid  pictures,  which  is  not  inconsistent  with 
the  strictest  exercise  of  the  understanding  in  all  those 
departments  of  thought  ovct  which  the  understanding 
holds  rightful  dominion;  and  of  this  kind  is  the  eloquence 
of  Mr.  Webster. 

Every  great  writer  has  a  style  of  his  own,  constructed 
according  to  the  character  of  his  mind  and  disposition. 
The  style  of  Mr.  Webster  has  great  merit,  not  only  for 
its  vigor,  clearness  and  compression,  but  for  the  broad 
impress  which  it  bears  of  the  writer's  nature.  It  owes 
nothing  to  the  usual  tricks  of  rhetoric,  but  seems  the 
unforced  utterance  of  his  intellect,  and  is  eminently 
Websterian.  There  is  a  granite-like  strength  in  its  con- 
struction. It  varies,  from  the  simple  force  and  directness 
of  logical  statement,  to  a  fierce,  tramp,' ing  energy  of 
manner,  with  each  variation  of  his  mind  from  calmness 
to  excitement.  He  appears  moderately  gifted  with 
fluency.  Were  it  not  for  the  precision  and  grasp  of  his 
mind,  he  would  probably  be  a  hesitating  ext'emporaneous 
speaker.  But  with  a  limited  command  of  langufige,  he 
has  a  large  command  of  expression.  He  has  nonp  of  the 
faults  which  spring  from  verbal  fluency,  and  if  npver 
misled  by  his  vocabulary.  Words,  in  his  mind,  are  not 
masters,  but  instruments.  They  seem  selected,  or  ra^he* 
clutched,  by  the  faculty  or  feeling  the.y  serve.     Thty 


DANU'.L    WEBSTER.  201 

never  overload  his  meaning.  Perhaps  extreme  readiness 
in  the  use  of  language  is  prejudicial  to  depth  and  intens- 
ity of  thinking.  The  ease  with  which  a  half-formed  idea, 
swimming  on  the  mind's  surface,  is  clothed  in  equivocal 
words,  and  illustrated  with  vague  images,  is  the  "  fatal 
facility"  which  produces  mediocrity  of  thought.  In  Mr. 
Webster's  style,  we  always  perceive  that  a  presiding 
power  of  intellect  regulates  his  use  of  terms.  The 
amplitude  of  his  comprehension  is  the  source  of  his 
felicity  of  expression.  He  bends  language  into  the  shape 
of  his  thought ;  he  never  accommodates  his  thought  to  his 
language.  The  grave,  high,  earnest  nature  of  the  man 
looks  out  upon  us  from  his  well-knit,  massive,  compact 
sentences.  We  feel  that  we  are  reading  the  works  of 
one  whose  greatness  of  mind  and  strength  of  passion  no 
conventionalism  could  distort,  and  no  exterior  process  of 
culture  could  polish  into  feebleness  and  affectation  ;  of  one 
who  has  lived  a  life,  as  well  as  passed  through  a  college, 
—  who  has  looked  at  nature  and  man  as  they  are  in 
themselves,  not  as  they  appear  in  books.  We  can  trace 
back  expressions  to  influences  coming  from  the  woods 
and  fields, —  from  the  fireside  of  the  farmer, —  from  the 
intercourse  of  social  life.  The  secret  of  his  style  is  not 
to  be  found  in  Karnes  or  Blair,  but  in  his  own  mental 
and  moral  constitution.  There  is  a  tough,  sinewy 
strength  in  his  diction,  which  gives  it  almost  musculaj 
power  in  forcing  its  way  to  the  heart  and  understanding. 
Occasionally,  his  words  are  of  that  kind  which  are  called 
"  half-battles,  stronger  than  most  men's  deeds."  In  the 
course  of  an  abstract  discussion,  or  a  clear  statement  of 
facts,  he  will  throw  in  a  sentence  which  almost  makes 
us  spring  to  our  feet.  When  vehemently  roused,  either 
from  the  excitement  of  opposition,  or  in  unfolding  a  great 


202  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

principle  which  fills  and  expands  his  soul,  or  in  paying 
homage  to  some  noble  exemplar  of  virtue  and  genius,  his 
style  has  a  Miltonic  grandeur  and  roll,  which  can  hardly 
be  surpassed  for  majestic  eloquence.  In  that  exulting 
rush  of  the  mind,  when  every  faculty  is  permeated  by 
feeling,  and  works  with  all  the  force  of  passion,  his  style 
has  a  corresponding  swiftness  and  energy,  and  seems 
endowed  with  power  to  sweep  all  obstacles  from  its  path. 
In  those  inimitable  touches  of  wit  and  sarcasm,  also, 
where  so  much  depends  on  the  selection  and  collocation 
of  apt  and  expressive  language,  and  where  the  object  is 
to  pelt  and  tease  rather  than  to  crush,  his  diction  glides 
easily  into  colloquial  forms,  and  sparkles  with  animation 
and  point.  In  the  speech  in  reply  to  Hayne,  the  variety 
of  his  style  ^  is  admirably  exemplified.  The  pungency 
and  force  of  many  strokes  of  sarcasm,  in  this  celebrated 
production,  the  rare  felicity  of  their  expression,  the 
energy  and  compression  of  the  wit,  and  the  skill  with 
which  all  are  made  subsidiary  to  the  general  purpose  of 
the  orator,  afford  fine  examples  of  what  may  be  termed 
the  science  of  debate.  There  is  a  good-humored  mock- 
ery, covering,  however,  much  grave  satire,  in  his  refer- 
ence to  the  bugbear  of  Federalism. 

"  We  all  know  a  process,"  he  says,  "  by  which  the  whole 
Essex  Junto  could,  in  one  hour,  be  washed  white  fro.n  their 
ancient  federalism,  and  come  out,  every  one  of  them,  an  orif^inal 
democrat,  dyed  in  the  wool !  Some  of  them  have  actually 
undergone  the  operation,  and  they  say  it  is  quite  easy.  The 
only  inconvenience  it  occasions,  as  they  tell  us,  is  a  slight  ten- 
dency of  the  bluod  to  the  head,  a  soft  suffusion,  which,  however, 
is  very  transient,  since  nothing  is  said  by  those  they  join  calcu- 
lated to  deepen  the  red  in  the  cheek,  but  a  prudent  silence  is 
observed  in  regard  to  all  the  past." 


DANIEL    WEBSTER. 


10'6 


In  the  second  speech  on  the  Sub-treasury,  aftei 
enumerating  the  various  countings  which  the  "public 
moneys"  would  undergo,  if  collected  and  disbursed 
according  to  the  specie  plan,  he  introduces  a  ludicrous 
image,  which,  when  taken  in  connection  with  the  strain 
of  argument  that  precedes  it,  is  almost  unrivalled  as  a 
felicitous  stroke  of  ridicule.  "  Sir,"  he  says,  "  what  a 
money-counting,  tinkling,  jingling  generation  we  shall 
be  !  All  the  money-changers  in  Solomon's  Temple  will 
be  as  nothing  to  us.  Our  sound  will  go  forth  into  all 
lands.  We  shall  all  be  like  the  king  in  the  ditty  of  the 
nursery  :  — 

•There  sat  the  king  a-countingof  his  money.'  " 

The  sarcasm  of  Mr.  Webster,  when  it  is  exercised  on 
things  which  awake  his  resentment,  is  often  exceedingly 
sharp  and  severe  ;  and  his  very  words  seem  to  cut,  and 
sting,  and  hiss,  in  their  utterance.  This  power  he  rarely 
uses,  except  when  some  malignant  personal  attack  calls 
it  forth  ;  and  then  he  is  merciless.  He  not  only  wounds, 
but  he  probes  and  torments  the  quivering  flesh  of  his 
victim.  His  expression  of  scorn  and  contempt,  likewise, 
is  measureless  and  crushing.  When  taunted  with  a 
participation  vin  things,  the  very  suspicion  of  which  is 
offensive  to  his  pride  or  his  dignity,  he  does  not  con- 
descend to  defend  himself,  or  to  be  enraged  ;  but  his 
scorn  darts  instantly  to  the  motives  of  the  attack,  and  to 
the  baseness  of  the  imputation.  He  ever  gives  the 
impression,  that  the  originator  of  the  libel  was  aware 
of  its  incongruity  with  the  ciiaracter  of  Daniel  Webster, 
and  therefore  was  compelled  to  support  it  by  the  hardiest 
falsehood.  The  reference  to  the  "  murdered  coalition'* 
is  a  case  in  jtoint. 


204  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

"  Doubtless,"  he  says,  "  it  served  its  day,  and,  in  a  greater  or 
less  degree,  the  end  designed  by  it.  Having  done  that,  it  has 
sunk  into  the  general  mass  of  stale  and  loathed  calumnies.  It 
is  the  very  cast-off  slough  of  a  polluted  and  shameless  press. 
Incapable  of  further  mischief,  it  lies  in  the  sewer,  lifeless  and 
despised.  It  is  not  now,  sir,  in  the  power  of  the  honorable 
member  to  give  it  dignity  and  decency,  by  attempting  to  elevate 
it,  and  to  introduce  it  into  the  Senate.  He  cannot  change  it 
from  what  it  is,  an  object  of  general  disgust  and  scorn.  On  the 
contrary,  the  contact,  if  he  choose  to  touch  it.  is  more  likely  to 
drag  him  down,  down  to  the  place  where  it  lies  itself." 

in  these  observations  on  some  of  the  characteristics  of 
Mr.  Webster,  we  have  not  attempted  a  complete  analysis 
of  his  mind,  or  followed  him  in  any  of  those  political  and 
constitutional  discussions  in  which  it  has  been  so  ably 
exercised.  We  have  rather  taken  a  general  view  of  his 
works,  with  reference  to  the  large  mental  power  and 
strong  points  of  character  they  evince,  and  the  elevated 
station  they  occupy  as  literary  productions.  We  have 
claimed  for  them  some  of  the  highest  honors  of  the  intel- 
lect. We  have  considered  them  as  being  eminently 
American  in  their  subjects  and  principles,  and  as  con- 
stituting an  important  part  of  our  national  literature. 
But  we  well  know  how  little  justice  can  be  done  a  great 
man,  in  thus  taking,  as  it  were,  his  nature  to  pieces,  and 
examining  each  portion  separately.  In  the  case  of  an 
author  like  Mr.  Webster,  whose  different  powers  inter- 
penetrate each  other,  and  produce  by  joint  action  a  har- 
monious result,  it  requires  a  more  potent  alchemy  than 
we  have  applied  thoroughly  to  resolve  his  different  pro- 
ductions into  the  elements  from  whose  combination  they 
have  sprung. 

We  have  likewise  run  the  risk  of  being  charged  with 
exaggeration,  in  our   estimate  of  his  capacity.      The 


DANIEL   WEBSTER.  205 

perfect  clearness  of  his  arrangement,  and  the  straight- 
forward, thorough-going  force  of  his  mind,  by  which  he 
simplifies  subjects  the  most  intricate  to  common  under- 
standings, and  exhibits  them  in  what  Bacon  calls  "drj' 
light,"  are  not  likely  to  be  appreciated  by  those  who 
judge  obscurity  to  be  a  necessary  ingredient  of  the  pro- 
found. There  appears  nothing  wonderful  in  the  result, 
for  it  seems  simple  and  easy  of  comprehension  ;  but  the 
wonder  is  in  the  process  by  which  the  result  is  obtained. 
Two  or  three  judicious  mysticisms,  an  arrangement  half 
clear  and  half  confused,  a  little  mingling  of  assertion 
with  deduction,  a  suppression  of  some  facts,  a  lofty  enun- 
ciation of  a  few  abstract  propositions,  and  a  less  compre- 
hensive mode  of  argumentation,  would  give  him,  in  the 
minds  of  many,  a  greater  reputation  as  a  deep  reasoner, 
than  he  could  obtain  from  his  rigid  severity  of  method, 
his  penetrating  sharpness  of  analysis,  and  his  massive 
good  sense.  There  is  more  likelihood  that  such  an 
author  would  be  underrated,  than  that  the  triumphs  of 
his  understanding  would  elicit  exaggerated  panegj-ric. 

In  the  United  States,  there  is  much  fanaticism  in  the 
opinions  —  we  will  not  insult  reason  by  calling  them 
judgments  —  expressed  of  public  men.  There  are  two 
species  of  cant  prevailing,  —  the  cant  of  absurd  pane- 
gyric, and  the  cant  of  absurd  invective  ;  and  it  has 
become  almost  a  custom  for  men  indiscriminately  to 
denounce  certain  statesmen,  against  whom  they  have 
no  feeling  of  hatred,  and  indiscriminately  to  eulogize 
others,  for  wiijm  they  have  no  feeling  of  admiration. 
Praise  and  blame  are  thus  made  independent  of  the 
qualities  which  should  call  them  forth.  In  the  jargon 
of  this  political  rhetoric,  there  is  no  sliding  scale  of 
morality  or   iiuiuorality,   genius    or  stupidity;    but    the 


206  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

boundaries  are  fixed,  with  geometrical  precision,  at  those 
points  where  one  party  comes  fece  to  face  with  another. 
On  one  side  are  knavery  and  folly,  on  the  other  side  are 
honesty  and  wisdom.  Of  course,  such  a  code  of  criti- 
cism admits  of  no  minute  distinctions  or  shades  in  the 
delineation  of  character.  A  few  epithets,  of  the  bitterest 
gall  or  the  sweetest  honey,  suffice  for  the  purpose. 

We  are  not  so  simple  as  to  believe  that  this  mode  of 
deciding  upon  the  character  and  ability  of  public  men 
goes  any  deeper  than  words.  It  is  merely  a  vice  of  the 
pen  and  the  tongue,  and  has  no  foundation  in  tho  heart 
of  the  community.  We  have  no  apology,  therefore,  to 
make  for  reviewing  the  works  of  one  who  is  connected 
with  a  great  political  party,  and  whose  speeches,  in  some 
respects,  are  an  exponent  of  its  principles.  As  so  many 
of  our  eminent  men  are  engaged  in  public  life,  it  would 
be  folly  in  neutral  literary  journals  to  avoid  noticing  their 
productions,  for  fear  of  wounding  the  sensitiveness  of 
one  class,  and  disregarding  the  wishes  of  another.  In 
respect  to  literature  and  intellectual  power,  there  should 
be  no  partisan  feeling.  We  have  not  considered  Daniel 
Webster  as  a  politician,  but  as  an  American.  We  do 
not  possess  great  men  in  such  abundance  as  to  be  able 
to  spare  one  from  the  list.  It  is  clearly  our  pride  and 
interest  to  indulge  in  an  honest  exultation  at  any  signs 
of  intellectual  supremacy  in  one  of  our  own  countrymen. 
His  talents  and  acquirements  are  so  many  arguments  for 
republicanism.  They  are  an  answer  to  the  libel,  that, 
under  our  constitution,  and  in  the  midst  of  our  society, 
large  powers  of  mind  and  marked  individuality  of  char- 
acter cannot  be  developed  and  nourished.  We  have  in 
Mr.  Webster  the  example  of  a  man  whose  youth  saw 
the  foundation  of  our  government,  and  whose  maturity 


DANIEL    WEBSTER.  207 

lias  been  spent  in  exercising  some  of  its  highest  offices 
who  was  born  on  our  soil,  educated  amid  our  people 
exposed  to  all  the  malign  and  beneficent  influences  of 
our  society  ;  and  who  has  acquired  high  station  by  no 
Binuous  path,  by  no  sacrifice  of  manliness,  principle,  or 
mdividuality,  but  by  a  straight-fonvard  force  of  character 
and  vigor  of  intellect.  A  fame  such  as  he  has  obtained  is 
worthy  of  the  noblest  ambition  ;  it  reflects  honor  on  the 
whole  nation  ;  it  is  stained  by  no  meanness,  or  fear,  or 
subserviency  ;  it  is  the  result  of  a  long  life  of  intellectual 
labor,  employed  in  elucidating  the  spirit  of  our  laws  and 
government,  in  defending  the  principles  of  our  institu- 
tions, in  disseminating  enlarged  views  of  patriotism  and 
duty,  and  in  ennobling,  by  the  most  elevated  sentiments 
of  freedom  and  religion,  the  heroical  events  of  our 
national  history>  And  we  feel  assured,  when  the  ani- 
mosities of  party  have  been  stilled  at  the  tomb,  and  the 
great  men  of  this  generation  have  passed  from  the  pres- 
ent feverish  sphere  of  excitement  into  the  calm  of  his- 
tory, that  it  will  be  with  feelings  of  unalloyed  pride  and 
admiration,  that  the  scholar,  the  lawj-er,  the  statesmao. 
the  orator,  the  American,  will  ponder  over  the  writings 
of  Daniel  Webster. 


NEAL'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  PURITANS.* 

We  are  pleased  to  see  an  American  edition  of  this 
valuable  work  on  political  and  ecclesiastical  history, 
edited  with  a  care  which  insures  the  correctness  of  its 
statements,  and  placed  at  a  price  which  brings  it  within 
the  reach  of  the  humblest  book-collector.  It  is  re- 
printed from  the  text  of  Dr.  Toulmin's  edition,  contain- 
ing his  notes,  illustrations,  and  corrections,  and  thor- 
oughly revised  by  Mr.  Choules,  the  American  editor.  It 
now  forms,  probably,  the  most  complete,  and,  in  the 
main,  the  most  correct  account  of  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able bodies  of  men  that  ever  appeared  in  the  world. 

Mr.  Choules  has  executed  his  task  with  marked  abil- 
ity. His  notes  give  evidence  of  the  care  with  which  he 
has  scrutinized  the  text  of  his  author,  and  the  extent 
of  his  researches  into  the  literature  and  history  of 
the  periods  he  illustrates.  He  has  consulted  the  most 
approved  works  on  the  subject,  especially  some  which 
have  been  published  since  Dr.  Toulmin's  edition  ap- 
peared ;  and  has  rescued  from  oblivion  many  a  choice 
sentence    and   pregnant  fact,  interred   in  old  and  rare 

*  The  History  of  the  Puritans,  or  Protestant  Non-conformists,  from  the 
Reformation  in  1517,  to  the  Revolution  in  1638;  comprising  an  Account  of 
their  Principles;  their  Attempts  for  a  further  Reformation  in  the  Church; 
their  Sufferings;  and  the  Lives  and  Characters  of  their  most  considerable 
Divines.  By  Daniel  Neal,  M.A.  Revised,  corrected,  and  enlarged,  with 
Additional  Notes,  by  John  O.  Clioules,  M.A.  New  Yoric  :  Harper  <k  Broth- 
ers, 1844.     2  vols.  8vo.  —  North  American  Review,  January,  1815. 


neal's  history  of  the  puritans.  209 

pamphlets  and  tomes  eaten  by  time.  The  editing  of  the 
book  has  evidently  been  a  labor  of  love ;  and  much  has 
been  added  to  make  us  more  familiar  with  the  habits, 
manners,  modes  of  thought,  and  principles  of  action, 
current  among  the  Puritans,  and  to  enable  us  to  appre- 
ciate the  position  they  occupied  with  respect  to  their 
contemporaries.  Both  of  the  editors  are  characterized 
by  a  love  of  religious  liberty,  and  do  not  hesitate  to  give 
their  author  a  little  gentle  correction  when  he  slips  from 
the  principles  of  toleration.  Both  are  Baptists;  Dr. 
Toulrnin  an  Arian  Baptist,  Mr.  Choules  a  Calvinistic 
one.  In  the  notes  of  the  former,  some  curious  informa- 
tion is  given  respecting  the  Unitarians  who  were  mingled 
among  the  persecuted  non-conformists,  and  of  the  hot 
disputes  which  sometimes  occurred  between  men  con- 
fined in  one  prison,  for  one  offence. 

Mr.  Choules  occasionally  allows  a  little  acerbity  to 
steal  into  his  style,  in  referring  to  the  pretensions  of 
Episcopacy  and  Catholicism;  but  not  more  than  could 
be  expected  from  a  man  who  has  devoted  years  to  a 
tract  of  history  blasted  by  the  fire  of  theological  hatred, 
and  red  with  the  blood  of  the  saints.  It  is  almost 
impossible  for  any  person,  whose  pulse  leaps  at  the 
thought  of  senseless  and  brutal  wrong,  done  to  men 
whose  sin  consisted  in  being  purer  and  more  honest  than 
their  contemporaries,  to  travel  through  circumstantial 
details  of  rapine  and  murder,  without  occasionally  letting 
loose  his  tongue,  both  at  the  perpetrators  and  at  the 
systems  under  which  such  crimes  vvere  sanctified.  Such 
little  deviations  from  the  bland  and  opinionless  impar- 
tiality with  which  such  enormities  should  be  contem- 
plated, must  be  forgiven  to  those  who  edit  narratives  of 
religious  feuds  and  persecutions. 
14 


210  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

The  Rev.  Daniel  Neal,  the  author  of  the  work,  lived 
at  a  period  when  the  ardor  of  theological  dispute  and 
recrimination  had  become  allayed,  and  when  the  history 
of  the  Puritans  could  be  written  with  the  calmness 
requisite  for  truth  and  fairness.  He  was  born  in  1678, 
and  died  in  1743.  The  first  volume  of  his  history 
appeared  in  1732,  He  was  a  clergyman  of  the  old 
school  of  laborers,  once  so  common  in  New  England, 
writing  two  sermons  a  week  for  thirty  years,  devoting 
eight  or  twelve  afternoons  in  the  month  to  visiting  his 
congregation,  and  after  wearing  out  brain  and  body  in 
the  service  of  his  people,  dying  at  last  with  the  pen  lit- 
erally trembling  in  his  hand.  Though,  in  his  doctrinal 
sentiments,  a  Calvinist,  and  a  sturdy  defender  of  his 
creed,  he  appears  to  have  been  temperate  and  just  to 
others,  disliking  warfare  on  points  of  faith,  and  especially 
opposed  to  that  mode  of  argument  which  addresses  the 
reason  through  penal  laws  and  machines  of  torture.  He 
was  what  the  world,  almost  universally,  would  call  a 
good  man,  —  performing  all  the  relations  of  life  with 
exemplary  fidelity,  and  presenting  a  character  which  infi- 
delity could  not  but  honor,  and  even  licentiousness 
respect.  We  believe  that  he  aimed  conscientiously  at 
truth  in  his  history,  and  was  incapable  of  a  deliberate 
perversion  of  fact.  The  general  fairness  of  his  state- 
ments, though  doubted  at  times,  has  never  been  success- 
fully impugned.  All  the  errors  which  criticism  has  dis- 
covered in  his  work  arose  either  from  the  imperfection 
of  his  materials,  or  that  unconscious  bias  towards  his 
own  party,  from  which  the  most  candid  minds  are  not 
always  free.  His  character,  in  every  respect,  shines 
well,  as  contrasted  with  that  of  his  opponents.  Grey  and 
Warburton,  who  brought  in  question  his  historical  hon 


NEAL'S  HISTORY    OF    THE    PURITANS.  211 

esty.  The  candor  of  such  a  critic  as  Dr.  Grey  may  be 
estimated  by  his  edition  of  Hudibras,  in  which  he  seems 
to  have  taken  great  delight  in  prowling  amidst  the  liter- 
ary filth  of  Charles  the  Second's  time,  to  rake  up  mor- 
sels of  ribaldry,  originally  directed  by  sensualists  and 
renegiides  against  the  Puritans,  and  which,  by  the  mercy 
of  the  world,  would  otherwise  have  been  allowed  to  rot 
out  of  existence.  The  fierce,  unjust,  domineering  spirit 
of  Warburton,  whose  vast  learning  was  held  in  bondage 
to  paradox  and  bigotry,  and  who  passed  to  preferment 
and  power  through  the  gate  of  sycophancy,  was  not 
peculiarly  fitted  to  criticize,  or  even  consistently  to  abuse, 
such  a  man  as  Neal.  At  any  rate,  all  the  light  which 
has  been  shed  on  the  times  since  the  original  work  was 
written  has  flowed  freely  into  the  minds  of  its  editors, 
and  any  mistakes  into  which  the  author  may  have  fallen 
have  been  rigorously  corrected.  As  it  now  stands,  it 
can  be  taken  as  a  reliable  history,  in  which  matters  of 
fact  and  matters  of  opinion  are  cautiously  discriminated. 
The  style  of  Neal's  work,  if  it  does  not  evince  a  large 
command  of  expression,  is  still  not  deficient  in  many 
excellences.  It  contains  numerous  passages  of  that 
homely  eloquence,  which  springs  from  simple  earnest- 
ness of  feeling,  and  finds  its  way  directly  to  the  heart. 
There  is  occasionally  much  felicity  in  the  selection  of 
wcrds  embodying  homely  fancies,  and  which  convey  the 
secse  by  suggesting  an  image.  This  characterizes, 
indeed,  almost  all  the  school  of  writers  to  which  Neal 
belonged,  and  gives  to  many  of  the  forgotten  pamphlets 
of  the  last  half  of  the  seventeenth  century  a  raciness  of 
style  more  expressive  than  elegant.  There  is,  at  times, 
considerable  picturesque  quaintness  in  Neal,  and  not 
uiifrequently   a   kind   of  half-suppressed   irony,  wiiich 


213  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

relieve  the  business-like,  character  of  the  general  diction 
of  his  history.  We  have  not  found  the  book  dull.  By 
occasionally  skipping  or  condensing  an  account  of  some 
non-conformist  preacher,  in  whose  biography  the  author's 
pen  is  a  little  too  liberal  of  ink,  and  disregarding  a  few 
abstracts  of  voluminous  documents,  we  think  it  would 
please  the  general  reader.  The  honesty  and  simplicity 
of  the  writer's  nature  shine  clearly  through  his  style, 
and  give  it  an  originality  and  freshness  which  it  could 
not  derive  from  a  more  scrupulous  rhetoric,  and  a  less 
natural  arrangement.  In  the  narration  of  facts,  the  dis- 
position of  arguments,  the  compression  of  evidence,  the 
review  of  disputed  questions,  and  often  in  the  keen  criti- 
cism of  motives,  and  clear  insight  into  matters  overladen 
with  wordy  passion,  the  style  and  the  mind  of  Neal  are 
displayed  to  great  advantage.  It  is  difficult  to  resist  the 
conclusion,  that  the  intention  of  the  author,  in  writing 
his  work,  was  not  to  serve  any  party  or  private  views, 
but  that  his  object  was,  in  his  own  words,  to  do  "  some 
service  to  the  cause  of  truth,  and  to  the  religious  and 
civil  liberties  of  mankind." 

We  think  the  publication  of  this  book  timely,  apart 
from  its  historical  value  and  interest.  The  great  princi- 
ple, on  which  rested  equally  the  justice  of  the  Reforma- 
tion and  the  Puritan  secession,  is  now  often  called  in 
question.  Authority  once  more  declares  its  right  to 
supersede  conscience.  The  thoughts  and  feelings  of  the 
tenth  and  fourteenth  centuries  are  translated  into  the 
language  of  the  nineteenth.  Propositions,  long  consid- 
ered as  truisms,  are  now  attacked  as  paradoxes.  Arch- 
bishop Laud  has  his  eulogists;  Luther  his  detractors. 
The  right  of  the  individual  mind  to  form  its  faith  from 
the  most  thoughtful  and  candid  perusal  of  the  Bible  is 


neal's  history  of  the  puritans.  213 

denied.  All  the  blood  that  has  been  shed,  all  the  tor- 
tures which  have  been  eialured,  all  the  miseries  which 
have  been  suffered,  to  convert  this  principle  into  an  estab- 
lished fact,  are  thus  implied  to  have  been  wasted.  The 
world  has  been  battling  blindly  to  establish  a  great  heresy, 
repugnant  to  right  reason  and  to  the  word  of  God ;  and 
the  inference  is,  that  many  of  the  martyrs  have  but 
"  passed  out  of  one  flame  into  another."  If  this  right  of 
individual  judgment  be  a  mere  figment  of  the  brain,  the 
wars  into  which  it  has  led  some  of  the  best  and  noblest 
of  the  race  are  the  greatest  satires  on  human  folly  and 
depravity  ever  written  in  blood,  and  consecrated  by  suf- 
fering and  heroism. 

We  know  and  deprecate  the  evils  of  dissent,  and  the 
evils  which  flow  from  the  unrestrained  exercise  of  indi- 
vidual judgment  in  matters  of  religion.  Atheism  and 
fanaticism  —  the  one  denying,  the  other  degrading,  God 
—  are  the  two  pits  into  which  the  inquirer  is  liable  to 
fall,  who  casts  off"  authority,  and  trusts  to  his  own  mind. 
The  volumes  before  us  are  full  of  examples  which  tell 
against  kirk  as  well  as  against  church.  Senseless  doc- 
trines, accompanied  by  bigotry  equally  senseless ;  hatreds 
taking  the  name  of  duties ;  passions  wearing  the  guise 
of  revelations ;  pride  and  conceit  speaking  the  language 
of  conscience ;  —  these  too  often  meet  us  among  the 
zealots  who  were  associated  with  the  Puritans,  and 
among  all  great  bodies  of  men  who  have  opposed  reli- 
gious hierarchies.  The  dunce  and  the  enthusiast  arc 
ever  ready  to  supplant  the  established  superstition  with 
the  superstition  of  ignorance  and  passion.  But  evils  as 
bad  as  these  cling  to  the  best  efforts  of  man,  and  a-ise 
from  the  imperfection  of  his  nature.  Besides,  it  shcnild 
not  be  forgotten,  that  it  is  chiefly  persecution  that  forces 


214  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

men  into  fanaticism.  The  dreams  and  ravings  of  zealots, 
wrought  into  uncontrollable  excitement  by  the  discipline 
of  torture  and  confiscation,  are  arguments  against  the 
extravagant  pretensions  and  wanton  cruelties  of  the  op- 
pressors who  drove  them  mad.  That  English  liberty  has 
been  preserved  and  extended,  that  the  rights  of  the  human 
mind  in  matters  pertaining  to  government,  as  well  as  reli- 
gion, have  not  suffered  a  disastrous  eclipse  la  the  shadow 
of  absolutism,  is  owing  to  the  determined  stand  taken 
by  the  Puritans,  as  a  body,  for  liberty  of  conscience, 
and  to  the  indomitable  energy  with  which  they  fought, 
with  the  sword  and  with  the  pen,  against  civil  and 
ecclesiastical  tyranny.  There  were  evils  accompanying 
non-conformity;  but  who  can  compare  them  with  those 
which  must  have  followed  a  tame  acquiescence  in  the 
exactions  of  the  prelacy  and  the  king  ?  It  is  too  common 
to  pass  over  these  pioneers  and  martyrs  of  English  free- 
dom, and  refer  the  results  of  their  labors  to  the  agency 
of  less  powerful  and  more  selfish  spirits.  "  How  many 
earnest,  rugged  Cromwells,  Knoxes,  poor  peasant  Cov- 
enanters, wrestling,  battling  for  very  life,  in  rough,  miry 
places,  have  to  struggle,  and  sufTer,  and  fall,  greatly 
censured,  bemired,  —  before  a  beautiful  Revolution  of 
Eighty-eight  can  step  over  them,  in  official  pumps  and 
silk  stockings,  with  universal  three-times  three  !  " 

In  Neal's  History,  we  have  circumstantial  accounts  of 
the  errors  of  both  parties.  We  should  be  the  last  to 
apologize  for  those  of  the  Puritans.  Bigotry  and  exclu- 
siveness  derive  no  charm  from  being  practised  by  perse- 
cuted sects.  But  we  think  a  distinction  is  to  be  made 
between  the  intolerance  of  men  who  persecute  to  sustain 
themselves  in  office  and  dignity,  and  those  who  persecute 
from  honest  though  mistaken  views  of  the  necessity  of 


weal's  history  of  the  puritans.  215 

certain  doctrines  to  salvation.  Besides,  persecution  is  a 
bad  school  in  which  to  learn  toleration.  If  a  body  of 
men  be  deprived  of  their  dearest  rights  for  professing 
conscientious  opinions,  it  is  natural  that  they  should 
attach  more  importance  to  those  opinions  than  if  they 
were  allowed  their  free  exercise.  It  not  only  makes 
them  more  sturdy  champions  of  their  belief,  but  it  leads 
them  into  intolerance  towards  others.  The  most  impol- 
itic course  for  a  dominant  party  to  pursue  is  to  array 
the  passions  on  the  side  of  dissent.  In  England,  it  has 
been  the  fashion  to  support  the  established  church,  and 
discourage  secession,  by  coercion  and  exclusion  ;  yet  all 
that  the  stake,  the  pillory,  and  civil  disabilities,  have 
done  is,  to  multiply  dissenters,  and  widen  the  breach 
originally  made.  In  the  case  of  men  like  the  Puritans, 
—  men  of  iron,  to  whom  all  the  principalities  and  powers 
on  earth  were  as  nothing  compared  with  the  commands 
of  God,  on  whom  worldly  comforts  and  worldly  miseries 
could  not  operate  as  temptations  or  dissuasives  where 
the  interests  of  religion  were  concerned,  —  such  a  course 
comes  under  that  melancholy  class  of  offences  which  are 
blunders  as  well  as  crimes.  It  has  been  eloquently  re- 
marked, by  one  of  the  most  prominent  statesmen  of  the 
age,  that,  "  even  when  religious  feeling  takes  a  character 
of  extravagance  and  enthusiasm,  and  seems  to  threaten 
the  order  of  society,  and  siiake  the  columns  of  the  social 
edifice,  its  principal  danger  is  in  its  restraint.  If  it  be 
allowed  indulgence  and  expansion,  like  the  elemental 
fires,  it  only  agitates  and  perhaps  purifies  the  atmos- 
phere ;  while  its  efforts  to  throw  off  restraint  would  burst 
the  world  asunder." 

Few  religious  writers   have  excelled  Neal,  either  in 
ardor  or  argument  for  liberty  of  conscience.     He  has 


216  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS.     ' 

anticipated  Macaulay  in  several  propositions  contained 
in  his  paper  in  the  Edinburgh  Eeview,  on  "  Church  and 
State ; "  and,  indeed,  most  of  Macaulay's  writings  on  the 
period  of  the  Rebellion  and  the  Protectorate  evince  a 
close  study  of  Neal.  Though  the  latter  preserves  a 
strain  of  decorous  loyalty  and  contented  submission  to 
the  settlement  of  the  clashing  claims  of  Churchmen  and 
Dissenters  by  the  Revolution  of  1688,  he  has  many  sly 
thrusts  at  the  injustice  and  imperfection  of  the  laws.  He 
takes  the  position,  in  one  of  his  prefaces,  that  it  is  the  office 
of  the  civil  magistrate  to  protect  his  loyal  subjects  in  the 
free  exercise  of  their  religion  ;  not  to  incorporate  one 
religion  into  the  constitution,  and  make  conformity  to 
that  the  test  of  loyalty  and  faith.  He  contends,  that 
religion  and  civil  government  are  distinct  things,  and 
stand  wpon  a  separate  basis.  "  To  incorporate  one  reli- 
gion into  the  constitution,  so  as  to  make  it  a  part  of  the 
common  law,  and  to  conclude  from  thence  that  the  con- 
stitution, having  a  right  to  preserve  itself,  may  make 
laws  for  the  punishment  of  those  that  publicly  oppose 
any  one  branch  of  it,  is  to  put  an  effectual  stop  to  the 
progress  of  the  reformation  throughout  the  Christian 
world ;  for  by  this  reasoning  our  first  reformers  must  be 
condemned  ; "  and  he  proceeds  to  show,  that,  if  a  subject 
of  France  wrote  against  Catholicism,  he  might,  on  the 
reasoning  of  Churchmen,  be  punished  as  a  disturber  of 
the  public  peace,  because  "  Popery  is  supported  by  law, 
and  is  a  very  considerable  part  of  their  constitution." 

The  exercise  of  private  judgment  on  matters  of  reli- 
gion, if  it  sometimes  produces  superstition,  more  often 
overthrows  error.  It  is  that  intellectual  action  among  a 
people,  which  gives  vitality  to  their  worship  and  creeds. 
It  prevents  faith  from  degenerating  into  a  ceremony,  and 


neal's  history  of  the  puritans.  217 

tiansfers  brlief  from  the  lips  to  the  soul.  It  is  almost 
the  only  limit  to  the  besotted  bigotry,  or  the  smooth  in- 
difference, which  so  often  accompanies  unquestioned 
religious  dogmas.  It  is  always  tnost  active  when  the 
established  form  of  religion  is  most  tyrannical  or  most 
debased.  And  it  is  the  school  in  which  true  manliness 
and  true  godliness  of  character  are  nurtured.  The  faith 
that  has  grown  up  in  a  man's  soul,  which  he  has  adopted 
from  his  own  investigations,  or  his  own  inward  experi- 
ence, is  the  faith  that  sustains  men  in  temptations,  and 
in  the  blaze  of  the  fires  of  martyrdom.  In  faith  like  this, 
we  perceive  the  heroic  element  in  the  character  of  the 
Puritans.  It  is  this  which  endows  their  history  with  so 
many  of  those  consecrations  usually  considered  to  belong 
exclusively  to  poetrj'  and  romance.  To  a  person  who 
sees  through  the  mere  shows  of  things,  the  annals  of  the 
Puritans  are  replete  with  the  materials  of  the  heroic. 
There  is  no  aspect  of  human  nature  more  sublime  than 
the  spectacle  of  men  daring  death,  and  things  worse  than 
death,  under  the  influence  of  inspiration  from  on  high. 
Their  actions,  thus  springing  from  religious  principle, 
and  connected  by  a  mysterious  link  with  the  invisible 
realities  of  another  world,  impress  us  with  a  deeper  ven- 
eration than  we  can  award  to  the  most  tremendous  strug- 
gles for  terrestrial  objects.  That  is  no  common  heroism 
which  fears  nothing  but  God's  justice,  which  braves 
everything  for  God's  favor.  That  is  no  common  hero- 
ism which  breasts  the  flood  of  popular  hatred,  w'hich 
bares  its  forehead  to  the  thunders  of  dominant  hierarch- 
ies, which  scorns  alike  the  delusions  of  worldly  pomp  and 
the  commands  of  worldly  governments,  which  is  insen- 
sible to  the  jeer  of  the  scoffer  and  the  curse  of  the  bigot| 
which  smites  at  wickedness  girded  round  with  power 


218  ESSAYS    AND    RETIEWS, 

which  is  strong  in  endurance  as  well  as  in  action,  which 
marches  to  battle  chanting  hymns  of  devotional  rapture, 
and  which  looks  with  an  unclouded  eye  to  hea\'en  amid 
the  maddening  tortures  of  the  rack.  Men  who  have 
thus  conquered  the  fear  of  death,  the  love  of  ease,  the 
temptations  of  the  world,  —  who  have  subdued  all  the 
softer  passions  and  all  the  sensual  appetites  to  the  con- 
trol of  one  inflexible  moral  purpose,  who  have  acted 
through  life  under  the  sense  that  there  is  a  power  on 
earth  more  authoritative  than  the  decisions  of  councils, 
and  mightier  than  kings,  —  are  not  the  men  whom  world- 
lings can  safely  venture  to  deride,  or  for  whom  placid 
theologians  can  afford  to  profess  contempt. 

The  debt  of  gratitude  which  the  world  owes  to  the 
Puritans,  for  the  stand  they  took  for  the  rights  of  con- 
science and  the  liberties  of  mankind,  has  never  been 
ireely  paid.  Their  influence  on  modern  civilization, 
moral,  religious,  and  political,  has  rarely  been  justly 
estimated.  The  austerity  of  their  manners,  the  peculi- 
arities of  their  speech  and  dress,  the  rigor  of  their  creeds, 
have  been  allowed  to  divert  attention  from  their  manifold 
virtues.  Yet  it  would  be  difficult  to  name  any  body  of 
men,  connected  by  a  religious  and  political  bond,  that 
has  been  so  fruitful,  not  merely  in  divines,  but  in  war- 
riors, statesmen,  and  scholars.  Milton,  Selden,  Hamp- 
den, Cromwell,  Eliot,  Pym,  Knox,  Baxter,  Bunyan, 
among  many  others  eminent  in  action  or  speculation, 
are  names  which  have  become  woven  into  the  texture  of 
history.  In  the  department  of  theology,  the  labors  of 
the  Puritans  have  been  absolutely  gigantic  ;  and  what- 
ever may  be  the  estimate  of  their  importance,  no  one 
can  fail  to  appreciate  the  prodigious  masses  of  learning 
which  they  patiently  piled  up  as  defences  of  the  Gospel 


neal's  history  of  the  puritans.  219 

and  the  acuteness  and  ^sp  of  thought  with  which  they 
often  seized  the  darkest  and  most  tangled  questions  of 
metaphysical  divinity. 

But  it  is  in  the  position  they  occupy  in  English  his- 
tory, that  we  most  delight  to  contemplate  the  Puritans. 
We  believe,  that,  as  a  body,  they  were  the  most  sincere 
and  zealous  advocates  of  the  Reformation.  The  taint 
of  selfishness,  of  political  expediency,  of  worldly  ambition 
and  worldly  lusts,  is  seen  in  the  motives  which  influenced 
the  secession  of  the  Church  of  England  from  the  Church 
of  Rome.  It  was  a  political  more  than  a  religious  move- 
ment. It  had  its  first  inspiration  from  appetite,  not  from 
conscience.  We  reverence  the  Puritans  for  their  hon- 
esty, in  refusing  to  submit  to  the  exactions  of  the  new 
oppression,  —  for  their  dislike  of  any  coquetry  between 
Protestantism  and  Popery,  —  for  their  opposition  to  the 
mingling  of  temporal  with  spiritual  interests,  and  to  the 
cooperation  of  the  church  in  the  sins  and  corruptions  of 
the  state.  Their  stern  and  sturdy  adherence  to  what 
they  deemed  the  requisitions  of  conscience  and  the  will 
of  God  will  never  cease  to  act  as  an  inspiration  to  all 
who  raise,  in  after  times,  the  banner  of  revolt  against 
accredited  tyranny  and  established  falsehood.  Through 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  of  James  the  First,  of  Charles 
the  First,  of  Charles  the  Second,  constantly  pelted  as 
they  were  with  satire,  and  exposed  to  the  most  brutal 
wrono-s  and  contumelies,  —  with  literature,  fashion,  taste, 
power,  all  arrayed  against  them,  —  they  ever  preserved 
those  titles  to  respect  which  cling  to  virtiie  and  religion. 
Compared  with  the  greedy  politicians,  the  time-ser\-ing 
priests,  the  efl[eminate  and  dissolute  courtiers,  the  venal 
writers,  who  honored  them  with  their  hatred  or  their 
ridicule,  they  loom  up  in  almost  colossal  propoitions, 


220  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

and  frown  rebuke  on  the  corruptions  of  their  age.  We 
are  not  blind  to  their  errors ;  we  do  not  sympathize  with 
their  theology ;  we  could  wish  that  much  of  their  en- 
thusiasm had  received  a  better  direction,  and  that  much 
of  their  piety  had  been  accompanied  by  more  kindliness 
of  spirit;  but  when  we  consider  the  trials  they  under- 
went, the  school  of  persecution  in  which  they  were 
trained,  the  character  of  the  abuses  which  they  assailed, 
the  meanness  and  baseness  of  too  many  of  their  adver- 
saries, and  the  inestimable  services  they  rendered  to  the 
world,  their  faults  and  errors  seem  to  dwindle  before  the 
light  of  their  faith,  their  virtue,  and  their  heroic  self- 
devotion. 

The  Puritans,  —  there  is  a  charm  in  that  word  which 
will  never  be  lost  on  a  New  England  ear.  It  is  closely 
associated  with  all  that  is  great  in  New  England  history. 
It  is  hallowed  by  a  thousand  memories  of  obstacles  over- 
thrown, of  dangers  nobly  braved,  of  sufferings  unshrink- 
ingly borne,  in  the  service  of  freedom  and  religion.  It 
kindles  at  once  the  pride  of  ancestry,  and  inspires  the 
deepest  feelings  of  national  veneration.  It  points  to 
examples  of  valor  in  all  its  modes  of  manifestation,  —  in 
the  hall  of  debate,  on  the  field  of  battle,  before  the  tribu- 
nal of  power,  at  the  martyr's  stake.  It  is  a  name  which 
will  never  die  out  of  New  England  hearts.  Wherever 
virtue  resists  temptation,  wherever  men  meet  death  for 
religion's  sake,  wherever  the  gilded  baseness  of  the 
world  stands  abashed  before  conscientious  principle, 
there  will  be  the  spirit  of  the  Puritans.  They  have  left 
deep  and  broad  marks  of  their  influence  on  human  soci- 
ety. Their  children,  in  all  times,  will  rise  up  and  call 
them  blessed.  A  thousand  witnesses  of  their  courage, 
their  industry,  their  sagacity,  their  invincible  persever 


NEAL*S    HISTORY   OF   THE    PURITANS.  221 

Bnce  in  well-doing,  their  love  of  free  institutions,  their 
respect  for  justice,  their  hatred  of  wrong,  are  all  around 
us,  and  bear  grateful  evidence  daily  to  their  memory. 
We  caimot  forget  them,  even  if  we  had  sufficient  base- 
ness to  wish  it.  Every  spot  of  New  England  earth  has 
a  story  to  tell  of  them;  every  cherished  institution  of  New 
England  society  bears  the  print  of  their  minds.  The 
strongest  element  of  New  England  character  has  been 
transmitted  with  tlieir  blood.  So  intense  is  our  sense 
of  affiliation  with  their  nature,  that  we  speak  of  them 
universally  as  our  "  fathers."  And  though  their  fame 
everywhere  else  were  weighed  down  with  calumny  and 
hatred,  though  the  principles  for  which  they  contended, 
and  the  noble  deeds  they  performed,  should  become  the 
scoff  of  sycophants  and  oppressors,  and  be  blackened  by 
the  smooth  falsehoods  of  the  selfish  and  the  cold,  there 
never  will  be  wanting  hearts  in  New  England  to  kindle 
at  their  virtues,  nor  tongues  and  pens  to  vindicate  their 
name. 


WORDSWORTH.* 

The  imaginative  literature  of  the  present  century  is  a 
subject  which  criticism  has  not  yet  exhausted.  At  the 
period  in  which  its  great  works  were  produced,  many 
causes  prevented  them  from  being  judged  in  a  spirit  of 
fairness.  The  acknowledgment  of  an  author's  merit 
depended,  to  a  great  extent,  on  personal  and  political 
considerations.  Malignity  and  partisanship  both  warped 
the  straight  line  of  analysis.  The  numerous  disquisi- 
tions which  have  appeared  since  these  passions  have 
been  somewhat  allayed  have  still  left  room  for  individual 
diversities  of  opinion.  We  have  thought  that  a  view 
of  the  character  and  tendencies  of  the  imaginative 
literature  of  the  present  age,  in  connection  with  the 
individual  and  poetical  characters  of  its  four  great  expo- 
nents, Wordsworth,  Byron,  Shelley,  and  Scott,  would 
not  be  distasteful  to  our  readers.  We  have  selected 
these  from  the  large  army  of  contemporary  poets,  be- 
cause in  this,  as  in  other  armies,  we  must  look  to  the 
leaders  for  the  direction  of  the  march,  and  the  conduct 
of  the  war.     We  commence  with  Wordsworth. 

Literature  has  its  ebb  and  flow,  its  periods  of  plenty 
and  barrenness,  of  progress  and  retrogression.  At  one 
time,  we  observe  a  race  of  authors  spring  up,  as  if  by 

♦  The  Complete  Poetical  Works  of  William  Wordsworth.  Philadelphia: 
James  Kay,  Jr.,  &  Brother.  Svo.  \&i7.  — North  American  Rtvitw,  Octo- 
btr,  1844. 


WORDSWORTH. 


223 


magic,  who  reflect  and  modify  current  tastes  and  opin- 
ions, communicate  a  new  energy  to  all  departments  of 
letters,  become  the  founders  of  a  school  of  literature, 
and  trail  after  them  an  admiring  body  of  disciples  and 
imitators.  But  their  influence  gradually  decays.  The 
spirit  that  animated  their  writings  dies  out.'  New  ideas 
and  new  ideals  take  possession  of  the  national  mind. 
Those  of  the  school  who  remain  copy  their  master's 
manner,  without  catching  any  of  their  master's  soul. 
Then  generally  follows  a  period  of  mental  sterility,  — 
a  weary  waste  in  intellectual  history,  dotted  by  only  a 
few  spots  of  verdure  and  beauty.  Soon,  however,  a 
reaction  commences.  The  dulness  and  debility  conse- 
quent upon  a  cringing  and  servile  admiration  of  past 
merit  gradually  provoke  the  best-natured  "  reading  pub- 
lic "  into  wrath.  A  new  order  or  development  of  litera- 
ture supplants  the  old,  —  a  literature  more  affected  by 
contemporary  events  and  opinions,  more  expressive  of 
the  advancing  character  of  the  people,  more  original  and 
bold.  This,  again,  when  emancipated  from  the  slavery 
of  the  past,  exercises  its  tyranny  upon  the  future. 

These  facts  account  in  some  degree  for  the  wide 
diversities  observable  in  the  intellectual  history  of  civil- 
ized nations.  In  one  age,  we  find  the  loftiest  genius,  in 
another,  the  meanest  mediocrity,  in  the  high  places  of 
letters.  Edmund  Spenser,  John  Dryden,  Colley  Gibber, 
Henry  James  Pye,  and  Robert  Southey,  have  all  been 
poet-laureales  of  England.  The  age  of  Pericles,  of 
Augustus,  of  Lorenzo  de  Medici,  of  Elizabeth,  of  Queen 
Anne,  periods  of  peculiar  brilliancy  in  literary  annals, 
were  succeeded  by  times  in  which  imitation,  rather  than 
creation,  was  the  poet's  boast.  A  great  author  thus 
establishes  a  kind  of  despotism  over  his  successors.    The 


224  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

freedom  of  their  minds  is  trammelled  by  the  canons  of 
taste  deddced  from  his  writings.  Until  imitation  has 
run  into  a  spiritless  mannerism,  and  given  over  the 
domain  of  letters  to  elegant  imbecility  or  galvanized 
commonplace,  it  is  rare  that  the  reaction  commences ; 
and  when  if  does  occur,  it  is  often  accompanied  by  those 
wild  excesses  which  stain  most  rebellions  against  estab- 
lished power. 

Thus  it  was,  in  somie  degree,  with  that  rebellion 
against  what  is  absurdly  called  the  correct  school  of 
poetry,  which  has  occurred  within  the  last  fifty  years. 
It  is  hardly  possible  for  any  person  to  contrast  the  torpid 
formality  and  florid  feebleness  which  chamcterized  most 
of  the  current  rhyme  of  the  last  generation,  with  the 
vigor,  the  broad  scope,  the  earnestness,  the  sensibility, 
the  intellectual  and  moral  power,  which  distingnish  the 
poetry  of  the  present  age,  without  being  led  into  an 
inquiry  concerning  the  causes  of  so  wide  a  difference. 
It  seems  as  if  the  dead  body  of  literature  had  been 
touched  by  the  hand  of  an  enchanter,  and  had  sprung 
upon  its  feet.  To  whatever  department  of  letters  we 
turn,  we  find  it  swarming  with  occupants.  Signs  of 
mental  life  and  energy  meet  and  reward  the  eye  in 
every  direction.  Everything  we  see  tells  us  that  the 
paralysis  which  struck  the  inventive  powers  of  the  past 
geaeration  has  not  benumbed  the  imagination  of  our 
own.  The  poet  has  once  more  ceased  to  worship  fash- 
ion and  metre,  and  returned  to  nature  and  truth.  The 
scales  have  fallen  from  his  eyes,  and  he  can  see  \  the 
fetters  have  dropped  from  his  limbs,  and  he  can  move  ; 
the  burden  has  passed  away  from  his  soul,  and  he  can 
soar. 

It  is  impossible  to  frame  any  general  laws  which  shalJ 


WORDSWORTH.  225 

comprehend  all  the  phenomena  that  precede  or  accom- 
pany a  change  in  the  character  of  a  national  literature. 
But  there  were  various  causes  —  some  obvious,  some 
recondite,  and  all  in  harmony  with  historical  truth  — 
which  undoubtedly  influenced  the  character  of  the 
poetry  that  sprung  up  on  the  ruins  of  the  -critical  and 
artificial  school  of  the  time  of  Queen  Anne.  That  way 
of  writing  had  miserably  degenerated  in  the  composi- 
tions of  its  disciples.  All  that  was  admirable  in  Pope, 
its  great  master,  could  not  be  reproduced.  The  keen, 
searching  satire,  the  stinging  wit,  the  teeming  fancy,  the 
sharp  compression  of  style,  which  characterized  the  little 
man  of  Twickenham,  were  beyond  imitation ;  but  the 
flow  of  his  verse,  and  the  artifxe  of  his  manner,  were 
not  so  difficult  of  attainment.  These  merely  required  a 
good  ear  and  an  empty  heart ;  two  things  which  are 
wonderfully  common  in  all  ages.  As  a  matter  of  course, 
poetry  became  feeble  and  melodious,  refined  and  trite, 
heartless  and  genteel.  Most  of  the  poems  formed  on 
Pope's  model  made  a  smooth  descent  into  that  nothing- 
ness from  which  they  had  so  daintily  arisen,  hardly 
attracting  sufficient  attention  to  "  pay  the  expenses  of 
their  journey  to  oblivion."  The  last  faint  echo  of  the 
"  Rape  of  the  Lock  "  was  given  in  the  "  Triumphs  of 
Temper  "  of  the  "  amiable  "  Hayley.  During  the  sixty 
years  which  followed  the  deatlv  of  Pope,  tiie  few  good 
poems  which  have  journeyed  dovra  to  the  present  time 
c-fl.n  hardly  be  said  to  have  been  indebted  to  his  example 
for  any  of  their  merits.  They  were  angel  visits,  infre- 
quent though  celestial  sights,  to  a  generation  seemingly 
dull  and  dead  to  higli  poetic  feeling. 

The  revolution,  however,  came  at  last.    The  attention 
of  men,  sick  of  monotony  and  debility,  was  turned  to  the 
15 


226 


ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 


earlier  and  palmy  days,  the  true  Augustan  age  of  Eng- 
lish literature, —  to  that  wonderful  band  of  authors  that 
adorned  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  —  to  Shakspeare,  John- 
son, Fletcher,  Spenser,  and  Bacon.  The  vast  stores  of 
meditation,  imagination,  and  passion,  contained  in  the 
works  of  the  elder  dramatists,  were  explored.  The  fine 
old  English  ballads,  brimful  of  nature  and  truth,  were 
placed  side  by  side  with  the  nerveless  couplets  of  heroic 
rhymers.  Bums  and  Cowper,  each  after  his  own  way, 
had  shown  that  there  was  something  new  to  be  said 
about  nature  and  human  life.  The  butterflies  of  the 
Delia  Cruscan  school  were  broken  on  the  wheel  of  Gif- 
ford's  satire,  —  fit  engine  for  such  a  work.  Even  the 
nonsensical  sentimentalities  imported  from  Germany 
indicated  that  maudlin  feeling  and  spurious  energy 
were  tolerated  for  the  realities  which  they  suggested  as 
well  as  caricatured.  Both  in  the  work  of  demolition  und 
in  the  blundering  attempts  at  constructing  anew,  the 
same  spirit  was  manifested. 

The  two  principal  causes  of  the  change  in  the  tone 
and  character  of  literature  were,  probably,  the  French 
Revolution,  and  that  tendency  in  the  highest  minds 
towards  spiritualism,  which  was  expressed  in  the  revival 
of  what  is  now  vaguely  called  the  "  transcendental  phi- 
bsophy."  These  likewise  gave  the  impulse  to  some  of 
those  agents  in  the  woek  which  we  have  before  noted. 
Both  exerted  on  the  feelings  and  opinions  of  men  a  vast 
influence.  Between  the  French  Revolution,  which  was 
the  child  of  French  atheism,  and  the  philosophy  which 
reacted  against  it,  there  seems,  on  the  first  glance,  to  be 
little  connection  ;  yet  no  one  can  examine  the  poetry  of 
the  time  without  perceiving  that  these  two  influences 
almost  interpenetrate  each  other  in  their  effect  upon  the 


WOKDSWORTfl. 


usn 


national  mind.     They  are  seen  in  all  the  high,  imagina- 
tive literature  which  at  all  reflects  the  spirit  of  the  age. 

Of  the  influence  of  the  «'  spiritual  philosophy  "  it  is 
difficult  to  speak  here  at  sufficient  length,  or  with  any 
discrimination.  It  is  a  name  applicable  to  a  large  num- 
ber of  systems,  and  often  perversely  applied  to  opinions 
which  it  does  not  cover.  It  is  certain,  however,  that, 
during  the  period  when  poetry  was  most  artificial  and 
didactic,  the  current  philosophy  was  unspiritual.  Boling- 
broke  and  Pope  are  the  fit  representatives  of  the  specu- 
lation and  the  imagination  of  their  age.  The  "  Essay  on 
Man,"  in  which  the  thoughts  and  arguments  are  known 
to  be  Bolingbroke's.  is  a  meet  philosophical  counterpart 
to  the  "  Essay  on  Criticism."  Berkeley's  system  is 
hardly  an  exception  to  the  rule,  for  he  stands  as  much 
apart  from  his  time  as  Milton  does  from  the  time  of 
Charles  the  Second.  The  reliction  in  Scotland  and  other 
countries  against  materialism  may  be  said  to  have  been 
occasioned  by  the  necessities  of  natural  religion,  and  the 
want  experienced  of  a  philosophy  which  should  compre- 
hend all  the  elements  of  human  nature.  Both  in  philos- 
ophy and  poetry,  there  was  a  demand  for  something 
wiiich  prevalent  systems  had  overlooked.  The  spirit  of 
transcendental  speculation  deeply  infects  the  poetry  of 
Wordsworth,  Shelley,  Coleridge,  Keats,  and  Tennyson, 
and  partly  that  of  Byron.  It  is  the  inspiration  of  the 
most  popular  verse  produced  in  our  own  country.  Were 
Pope's  "  Essay  on  Man"  and  Longfellow's  "  Voices  of 
the  Night"  published  here  for  the  first  time  to-morrow, 
the  "  Voices  "  would  attract  ten  times  as  many  listeners 
as  the  "  Essay."  The  fertile  fancy,  harmonious  num- 
bers, and  brilliant  good  sense  of  Pope,  would  not  com 
pensate   for  his   lack  of  mystical  charm.     This  change 


228  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

from  the  sensual  to  the  super-sensual  in  poetry  has  not 
been  unattended  by  abuses  as  well  as  beauties.  To  read 
some  metrical  productions  of  the  crude  dabblers  in 
spiritualism  is  a  worse  physical  infliction  than  the  night- 
mare or  the  tooth-ache. 

Pure  spiritualism,  as  a  system  of  philosophy,  imposes 
on  external  nature  the  laws  of  the  understanding  oi  tne 
reason ;  poetry  imposes  on  nature  the  laws  of  the  imag- 
ination. Both  make  the  inner  world  of  the  mind  para- 
mount to  the  external  world  of  matter.  The  purest 
poetry  is  that  in  which  the  imagination  either  evolves 
from  material  objects  the  latent  spiritual  meaning  they 
secrete,  or  superadds  to  those  objects  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings which  the  senses  cannot  perceive  as  residing  in 
them.  It  thus  transcends  the  sphere  of  the  senses,  and 
is,  in  a  measure,  transcendental.  No  definition  of  poetry 
can  be  more  incorrect  than  that  which  confines  it  to 
imitation,  in  the  usual  sense  of  the  word.  Even  in 
descriptive  poetry,  the  forms  and  colors  of  nature  are  not 
imitated,  but  represented.  The  mind  that  describes  is 
always  predominant  in  the  description,  and  gives  as 
much  as  it  takes.  Two  true  poets  would  probably  give 
•an  essentially  different  description  of  the  same  land- 
scape. In  truth,  in  the  hands  of  the  imagination,  nature 
is  apt  to  be  a  huge  plaything,  to  be  tossed  about,  and 
forced  into  whatever  shape,  and  made  to  symbolize 
whatever  sentiment,  the  sovereign  faculty  may  impose. 
The  poet,  "  of  imagination  all  compact,"  stands  before 
the  vast  universe  of  things,  and  makes  it  speak  the 
language  of  his  own  heart  and  mind.  Everything  stable 
and  fixed,  and  hard  in  matter,  becomes  wax  under  his 
touch.  All  outward  objects  are  colored  by  the  hues  of 
tiis    feelings.      He   perceives   nature    rather   with    the 


WORDSWORTH.  229 

jntemal  than  with  the  external  senses.  If  his  soul  be 
darkened  by  despondency,  he  can  spread  a  thunder-cloud 
over  the  serenest  sky ;  if  there  be  no  sunshine  in  his 
heart,  he  can  see  no  sun  in  the  heavens.  He  sees  with 
his  soul  rather  than  with  his  eye.  One  of  the  greatest 
poets  that  ever  lived  —  we  mean  John  Bunyan,  homely 
as  may  be  the  associations  coimected  with  the  inspired 
tinker's  name  —  has  left  some  most  pertinent  instances 
in  his  writings  of  the  sway  exercised  by  the  imagination 
over  the  external  senses.  In  describing  the  dark  internal 
conflicts  which  convulsed  him,  during  one  stage  of  his 
religious  experience,  he  says  : —  "I  lifted  up  my  head, 
and  methought  I  saw  as  if  the  sun  that  shineth  in  the 
heavens  did  grudge  to  give  me  light ;  as  if  the  very 
stones  in  the  street,  and  tiles  upon  the  houses,  did  band 
themselves  against  me."  This  is  as  perfect  poetry  as 
ever  was  written. 

Thus  all  poetry  must,  to  a  great  extent,  be  transcen- 
dental. If,  in  delineating  the  forms  of  nature,  nothing  is 
superadded,  the  result  is  prose.  The  imagination  ever 
indicates  the  natural  superiority  of  mind  over  matter,  by 
the  lordliness  with  w'hich  it  changes  the  aspects  of  the 
material  creation.  In  representing  and  combining  out- 
ward objects,  it  stamps  them  with  a  new  character. 
There  is  hardly  a  portion  of  earth  which  it  has  not 
decked  with  new  colors.  It  has  made  the  world  we  live 
in  radiant  with  beauty,  by  clustering  its  analogies  around 
aL  the  objects  which  meet  our  senses.  There  is  scarcely 
a  form  of  visible  nature  which  bears  not  the  mark  of  its 
celestial  footprints.  It  opens  a  new  revelation  of  loveli- 
ness in  everything  it  touches.  A  generation  of  poets 
never  leave  the  world  as  they  find  it.  It  becomes  a  more 
blessed  habitatiou  to  the   humblest,  for  every  bard  whc 


230  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

connects  any  of  its  forms,  colors  and  sounds,  with  spirit 
ual  truths.  Thus  poetry  ministers  to  that  high  aspiration 
in  man  for  "  a  more  ample  greatness  and  exact  goodness, 
the  world  being  inferior  to  the  soul." 

All  high  imaginative  poetry  thus  transcends  the  actual 
sphere  of  existence.  But  the  poetry  of  the  present  age 
is  distinguished  by  what  may  be  called  its  philosophical 
as  well  as  its  imaginative  character.  It  grasps  at  the 
solution  of  the  dark  problems  of  man's  existence  and 
destiny.  It  grapples  with  the  doubts  and  fears  which 
perplex  the  understanding.  It  watches  the  movements 
of  the  soul,  intent  on  fixing  and  giving  shape  to  the 
most  fleeting  shades  of  thought  and  emotion.  It  is  even 
familiar  with  the  dark  and  tangled  paths  of  meta- 
physics. Nothing  is  too  humble  for  its  love,  nothing  too 
lofty  for  its  aspirations.  The  peasant,  the  monarch,  the 
thinker,  are  all  represented  in  its  creations  and  ideal 
forms.  Its  end  is  not  merely  to  please,  but  to  inspire  and 
instruct.  Whether  dealing  with  scepticism  or  faith, 
whether  confirming  or  shaking  common  belief,  it  is 
always  in  earnest.  It  is  never  content  with  the  careless 
play  of  fancy,  or  the  cold  exercise  of  reason,  on  subjects 
which  relate  to  God,  man,  and  the  universe.  Its  philos- 
ophy is  not  a  dead  formula,  but  a  living  faith,  by  which 
the  value  of  institutions  is  to  be  tested,  and  in  obedience 
to  which  all  things  must  be  ruled.  It  mingles  with  all 
the  interests  of  mankind,  and  gives  voice  and  form  to  its 
rights,  its  wrongs,  and  its  aspirations.  It  is,  as  it  were, 
the  champion  of  humanity,  declaring  the  infinite  worth 
of  the  individual  soul,  and,  both  in  anathemas  and 
appeals,  striking  at  all  social  and  political  despotisms. 
The  force  of  its  practical  teachings,  the  influence  of  its 
lofty  declarations  of  duty  and  freedom,  depend  on  the 


WORDSWORTH.  231 

met,  that  man  is  a  spiritual  being,  with  thoughts  and 
affections  transcending  the  sensible  world,  and  bearing  a 
relation  to  a  future  as  well  as  a  present  life. 

Thus  poetry,  as  it  makes  the  material  universe  more 
beautiful  and  sublime  by  associating  its  properties  with 
the  operations  of  the  mind,  has,  also,  especially  in  the 
present  age,  thrown  new  consecrations  around  the  nature 
of  man,  and  weakened  the  force  of  those  slavish  bonds 
of  opinion,  which  bind  the  victim  of  the  world's  tyran- 
nies more  strongly  than  with  chains.  And  this  brings 
us  to  the  consideration  of  the  other  grand  event  of  the 
time,  whose  effect  on  the  character  of  its  imaginative 
literature  is  so  great  and  obvious. 

The  opinions  and  contests  to  which  the  French  Revo- 
lution gave  rise  stirred  the  mind  of  all  Europe  to  its 
depths.  This  great,  convulsion  left  its  traces  deep  in  the 
works  of  almost  every  author.  All  changes  in  the  habits, 
opinions,  maimers,  government,  and  religion  of  society, 
call  for  and  create  a  new  epoch  in  literature  ;  and  the 
revolution  in  France  was  especially  calculated  to  produce 
this  effect.  In  England,  the  new  opinions  and  new  aspi- 
rations, which  the  great  social  earthquake  excit(jd,  affect- 
ed, in  some  degree,  all  departments  of  letters.  It  was 
especially  adapted  to  inflame  the  passions  and  stimulate 
the  imagination.  There  was  a  general  uprooting  of 
everything  on  which  the  moss  of  time  had  gathered. 
"  What  was  gray  with  age,"  was  to  men  no  longer  "  god- 
like." Bold  questions  were  put  to  all  forms  of  leligion, 
political  institutions,  and  social  arrangements.  A  new 
train  of  thoughts,  hopes,  fears,  and  sentiments,  passed 
into  the  heart  and  brain  of  society,  and  became  the  inspi- 
ration of  its  literature.  Events  were  constantly  occur- 
ring, to  which   no  parallel  could  be  'bund  in  European 


232  ESSAYS   AND   HEVTEWS. 

history;  fierce  and  turbulent  contests,  on  the  field  of 
battle  or  in  the  halls  of  debate,  kept  curiosity  and  wonder 
constantly  awake. 

It  is  evident,  that  such  a  time  as  this  was  not  the 
period  for  florid  imbecilities  and  harmonious  sentiment- 
alities, —  for  lines  addressed  to  imaginary  Chloes  and 
Daphnes,  and  for  the  fooleries  of  courtly  affectation. 
There  was  a  sturdy  democracy  of  readers  demanding 
something  more  fiery  and  daring,  or  something  more 
hearty  and  true.  The  naked  energy  of  unchecked  pas- 
sions for  once  had  full  play.  Great  revolutions,  threat- 
ening the  ancient  order  of  things,  and  promising  the 
reconstruction  of  the  world,  opened  fresh  fields  for  the 
imagination.  There  had  been  no  period  in  modern  his- 
tory when  those  mighty  external  causes  generally  sup- 
posed to  stimulate  the  powers  of  the  poet  into  intensest 
action,  were  in  such  uncontrollable  operation  as  in  the 
interval  between  the  years  1790  and  1S20.  During  that 
period,  but  principally  in  the  last  ten  years  of  it,  the 
great  works  of  imagination  which  are  the  glory  of  our 
time  appeared.  In  them  we  discover  all  the  conserva 
tive  and  radical  elements  which  were  rife  among  the 
people,  sublimed  by  genius. 

It  is  certain  that  the  moral  agencies  which  the  Revo- 
lution awoke  were  among  its  most  marked  results.  It 
led  to  the  study  and  assertion  of  first  principles,  and  to 
their  promulgation  with  all  the  combined  energy  of  rea- 
son, imagination,  and  passion.  If  the  spiritual  element 
to  which  we  have  before  alluded  had  not  pervaded  the 
poetry  of  the  time,  it  is  probable  that  mere  passion  would 
have  been  predominant,  and  that  the  literature  would 
have  "  foamed  itself  to  air."  As  it  was,  almost  all  the 
characteristics  of  the  age  were  reflected  in  its  poetry 


WORDSWOHTH.  233 

The  sentiment  of  humanity,  of  freedom,  of  sorrow,  of 
disquietude, — all  the  virtue^,  sins,  errors,  faith,  scepti- 
cisms, of  the  time,  —  its  good  and  its  evil,  its  happiness 
and  misery,  its  religion  and  irreligion,  —  are  seen,  in  a 
greater  or  less  degree,  in  the  works  of  Wordsworth,  By- 
ron, Shelley,  Southey,  Coleridge,  and  many  of  less  note. 
We  also  perceive  a  prevailing  earnestness  and  intensity 
of  feeling,  in  some  cases  rising  to  agony  and  desperation, 
in  these  writings.  Most  of  them  display  the  individual 
peculiarities  of  their  authors,  and  are  colored  by  per- 
sonal feelings.  Each  opens  some  new  mines  of  imagin- 
ation, or  penetrates  deeper  into  those  but  partially  ex- 
plored. The  intellectual  energy  displayed  in  most  of 
them  is  in  fine  contrast  with  the  feebleness  and  timid 
elegance  of  the  poets  they  supplanted.  Even  those  who 
differ  most  in  the  character  of  their  minds  and  opinions, 
appear  influenced  by  similar  causes.  The  whole  litera- 
ture, indeed,  gives  evidence  of  the  mighty  commotions 
of  the  period  in  which  it  was  produced,  and  of  the 
numerous  agencies  which  concurred  in  its  formation.  In 
no  other  age  of  the  world's  history  were  poets  charac- 
terized by  so  much  subjective  action  of  the  mind,  and 
such  marked  individuality ;  yet  in  no  other  age  did  they 
represent  so  truly  the  character  and  tendencies  of  com- 
mon feeling  and  opinion. 

First  in  point  of  time,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  many 
first  in  point  of  genius,  among  the  poets  of  this  period 
we  must  place  Wordsworth,  the  pioneer  of  the  new  school, 
for  many  years  its  martyr,  and  now  its  patriarch.  His 
life,  for  the  last  fifty  years,  has  been  spent  in  thinking, 
writing,  and  acting  poetry.  To  him,  more  than  to  any 
other,  are  we  indebted  for  the  return  of  the  divine  art  to 
its  true  domain,  —  the  soul  of  man  and  external  nature. 


234  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

Born,  as  he  boasts,  in  a  mountainous  country,  and  ex- 
posed from  his  youth  to  the  influences  of  sublime  and 
ennobUng  scenery,  he  early  discovered  the  difference 
between  the  poetry  of  words  and  the  poetry  of  things. 
He  was  fitted  by  nature  and  education  for  the  duties  and 
trials  of  a  reformer.  More  disposed  to  look  within  than 
without  for  guidance  and  approval ;  plain,  manly,  inde- 
pendent; unconquerable  by  injustice  or  even  by  ridicule; 
and  free  from  that  servitude  to  popular  caprice  which 
makes  the  popular  author  of  to-day  and  the  forgotten 
author  of  to-morrow;  he  was  eminently  calculated  to 
exercise  that  moral  pride  which  enables  a  poet  to  defy 
contemporary  criticism,  to  retort  contemporary  scorn,  and 
to  labor  on  a  work  "  in  the  full  assurance  that  it  would 
be  unpopular,  and  in  the  full  assurance  that  it  would  be 
immortal."  His  theory  of  poetic  diction,  which  dis- 
carded the  peculiar  language  and  jargon  of  verse,  and 
substituted  for  it  the  language  of  real  life,  sprang  from 
the  simplicity  and  sincerity  of  his  nature ;  and  if  we 
take  his  own  style  as  the  illustration  of  the  true  scope 
and  meaning  of  his  system,  we  can  there  discover  its 
strongest  defence ;  for  though  his  diction  may  lack  the 
incessant  glow  and  glare  of  Byron's  and  Shelley's,  it  is 
never,  in  his  best  works,  deficient  in  splendor  and  com- 
pass. He  seems  to  have  begun  life  with  a  determination 
to  take  nothing  at  second-hand.  It  was  his  object  to 
look  nature  and  man  directly  in  the  face,  and  record  his 
impressions  of  both  without  regard  to  established  metrical 
customs.  He  was  undoubtedly  one-sided  in  the  view  he 
took  of  many  of  his  predecessors  ;  but  the  evils  against 
which  he  contended  were  so  great,  that  nothing  but  the 
extreme  opposite  to  the  prevailing  fashions  could  correct 
them.     The  same  enthusiasm  and  energy  of  will  which 


WORDSWORTH.  235 

make  a  man  a  reformer,  make  him  likewise  something 
of  a  fanatic. 

In  his  youth,  Wordsworth  partook  of  the  golden  hopes 
of  universal  emancipation  current  among  all  the  imagina- 
tive minds  of  his  day;  and,  with  Coleridge  and  Southey, 
consumed  much  time  in  building  Utopian  theories  of  gov- 
ernment and  "  pantisocracies,"  out  of  the  very  inanities 
of  democracy.  They  all  had  an  open  sense  for  whatever 
was  poetical  in  the  contests  and  opinions  springing  from 
the  French  Revolution.  Their  theories  of  poetry,  though 
at  first  somewhat  narrow,  possessed  the  advantage  of 
erring  in  the  right  direction.  They  spurned  at  the  old 
tricks  and  gauds  of  diction,  and  adopted  homeliness  in 
their  language,  as  well  as  in  many  of  their  subjects. 
Nature  was  the  goddess  of  their  adoration.  Men  and 
women,  as  distinguished  from  lords  and  ladies,  they 
delighted  to  honor.  They  were  liberal  almost  to  illib- 
erality.  Their  adventurous  daring  consisted  in  attempt- 
ing to  make  those  persons  and  objects  which  produce 
physical  disgust  the  means  of  poetic  pleasure.  They 
put  souls  into  dogs,  horses,  rabbits,  and  other  equally  in- 
telligent brutes,  and  made  them  the  organs  of  juster  sen- 
timents than  were  uttered  in  "  polite  "  society.  All 
animals  seemed  nobler  in  their  eyes  than  fops  and  frib- 
bles, though,  by  a  course  of  very  subtile  reasoning,  fops 
and  fribbles  can  be  demonstrated  to  be  human  beings. 
Indeed,  they  appeared  as  the  advocates  of  all  things  that 
had  fallen  under  the  tyranny  of  prejudice  and  opinion. 
They  adopted  the  quarrel  of  man  and  nature  against 
men  and  society.  They  were  the  true  democrats  of 
poetry,  and,  for  the  fust  time,  in  their  writings,  the  sans- 
culottes trod  on  poetic  feet.  All  the  great  virtues  and 
iear  immunities  of  human  nature,  self-denial,  love,  char< 


236  ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS. 

ity,  faith,  piety,  they  delighted  to  represent  in  the  poor 
and  the  ignorant,  —  in  those  whom  poetry  before  had 
merely  pitied,  and  whom  the  dainty  spirits  of  a  former 
age  had  even  stigmatized  as  "  low."  They  forsook  pal- 
aces for  huts,  and  were  eminently  poets  of  the  poor. 
Neither  rags,  nor  coarseness  of  dress  and  manners,  nor 
even  bad  taste  and  worse  grammar,  could  conceal  from 
these  literary  innovators  the  inborn  grandeur  and  beauty 
of  the  human  soul.  They  committed  many  errors,  and 
slid  into  some  puerilities  ;  but  they  deserve  the  highest 
praise  for  passing  by  the  delusions  of  conventional  glitter 
and  pomp,  to  pour  out  the  full  freshness  of  their  young 
hearts,  nnd  the  full  richness  of  their  beneficent  imagina- 
tions, on  objects  which  pride  had  before  denied  to  be 
worthy  of  poetic  adornment ;  and,  by  that  consecrating 
power  which  belongs  only  to  genius,  to  cast  the  drapery 
of  the  beautiful  over  what  was  externally  mean  and 
unsightly. 

It  would  be  no  pleasant  task  to  describe  the  steps  by 
which  these  three  juvenile  republicans  became  tories. 
From  their  companionship  in  youth,  they  were  classed 
together  as  poets  after  a  more  extensive  range  over  the 
domain  of  reason  and  imagination  had  separated  them  in 
taste  and  manner.  Wordsworth  alone  seems  to  have 
adhered  steadily  to  his  poetical  principles.  In  his  case, 
the  child  was  ever  "  the  father  of  the  man."  To  him, 
we  think,  belongs  the  praise  of  giving  its  distinctive  spir- 
itual character  to  the  imaginative  literature  of  the  age. 
His  position  is  so  prominent  among  the  poets  of  his  time 
that  it  cannot  be  overlooked.  Verbal  critics  may  be 
shocked  at  some  of  his  phrases,  and  deny  him  any  merit 
on  account  of  a  few  trivial  epithets.  Worldlings  may 
sneer  at  the  simplicity  of  some  of  his  delineations  of 


WORDSWORTH.  237 

rural  life.  Truculent  poetasters,  boiling  over  with  the 
frenzy  of  a  pot-house  inspiration,  may  charge  him  with 
a  lack  of  power.  But  the  fact  remains  that  few  poets 
of  the  present  age  have  escaped  his  influence>  and  that 
he  has  stamped  the  character  of  his  muse  indelibly  on 
their  writings.  He  gave,  or  largely  assisted  in  giving, 
that  tendency  to  the  poetic  mind  which  produced,  at  a 
later  period,  the  magnificent  creations  of  Byron  and 
Shelley. 

The  originality  of  Wordsworth,  and  the  priority  of  his 
claims  to  be  considered  the  leader  of  the  poets  of  his  time, 
we  should  be  inclined  to  base  on  the  lines  written  in  1798, 
during  a  visit  to  the  ruins  of  Tintern  Abbey.  There  is 
one  passage  in  this  poem  which  is,  perhaps,  the  most 
remarkable  in  his  writings.  After  describing  the  manner 
in  which  the  forms  and  colors  of  nature  affected  his  youth, 
and  the  "  dizzy  raptures  and  aching  joys"  to  which  they 
ministered,  when  they  were  to  him  "  as  an  appetite,  and 
haunted  him  like  a  passion,"  —  when,  in  his  enjoyment 
of  their  beauty  and  grandeur,  they  needed  no  interest 
"  unborrowed  of  the  eye,"  —  he  proceeds  to  indicate  the 
new  aspect  under  which  they  appear  to  him,  since 

"  Impulses  of  deeper  birth 
Have  come  to  bini  in  solitude," 

and  his  mind  has  held  mysterious  communion  with  their 
inward  spirit :  — 

"  For  I  have  learned 
To  look  on  nature,  not  as  in  the  hour 
Of  thoug:htless  youth  ;  but  hearing  oftentimes 
The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity, 
Nor  harsh,  nor  prating,  though  of  ample  power 
To  chasten  and  subdue.     And  I  have  felt 
A  Presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 
Of  elevated  thoughts  ;  a  sense  sublime 


2.*^  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean,  and  the  living  air, 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  maa ; 
A  motion  and  a  spirit,  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things." 

It  certainly  was  a  great  advance  from  Pope  for  a  ptet 
to  have  "  an  appetite  and  a  passion"  for  external  nature. 
But  this  alone  would  not  have  constituted  any  peculiar 
claim  to  originality.  In  the  "  sense  sublime  of  something 
far  more  deeply  interfused,"  in  the  feeling,  that,  behind 
the  forms,  hues,  and  sounds,  of  the  material  universe, 
there  is  something  more  than  meets  the  external  senses, 
— something  which  defies  analysis,  undefined  and  ineffa- 
ble, which  must  be  felt  and  perceived  by  the  soul,  —  in 
this  intense  spiritualism,  mingled  with  the  mildest  and 
sweetest  humanity,  we  see  the  influence,  and  acknowl- 
edge the  power,  of  Wordsworth.  No  such  feeling  seems 
to  have  stirred  the  consciousness  of  Pope,  of  Gray,  of 
Collins,  of  Goldsmith,  of  Burns,  or  of  Cowper ;  and  it  is 
doubtful  if  it  can  be  found  in  the  great  poems  of  the 
Elizabethan  era.  To  some,  it  may  appear  nothing  more 
than  the  poetry  of  pantheism.  To  some,  it  may  seem 
utterly  unintelligible.  It  was  a  greater  stumbling-block 
in  the  way  of  the  northern  critics  of  Wordsworth  than 
his  alleged  vulgarities  and  trivialities.  But  nothing  is 
more  certain  than  that  it  is  this  spirit  which  now  pervades 
the  highest  branches  of  imaginative  literature,  and  is  the 
inspiration  of  many  a  passage  in  Byron  which  is  read 
with  continual  delight.  It  has  passed  from  the  summits 
of  poetry  to  mingle  with  the  interests  and  contests  of 
society.  It  is,  perhaps,  the  unconscious  inspirer  both  of 
much  of  the  radicalism  and  much  of  the  conservatism  ot 


WORDSWORTH.  239 

the  age.  It  affects  the  theological,  the  metaphysical,  and 
even  the  physical  speculations  of  the  day.  In  theology, 
it  is  the  parent  of  many  a  hotly  contested  dispute  on 
"the  spirit  and  the  letter"  of  Christianity.  Indeed,  the 
disposition,  everywhere  observable,  to  look  beneath  the 
forms  to  the  spirit,  not  only  of  nature,  but  of  institutions 
and  modes  of  faith,  is  the  same  in  substance  with  that 
which  is  expressed  in  the  celebrated  lines  of  Wordsworth. 
This  habit  has  led  to  some  queer  developments,  where  it 
has  been  unsparingly  exercised. 

In  this  transcendental  region  of  poetry,  Wordsworth  is 
rather  a  listener  than  a  seer.  He  hears  unearthly  tones 
rather  than  sees  unearthly  shapes.  The  vagueness  and 
indistinctness  of  the  impression  which  the  most  beautiful 
and  sublime  passages  of  his  works  leave  upon  the  mind  is 
similar  to  that  which  is  conveyed  by  the  most  exquisite 
music.     His  is  not  often  the  Thought 

"  Wliich  pierces  this  dim  universe  like  light.'" 

His  description  of  indefinite  emotions  and  subtile  ideas  is 
so  expressed  as  to  be  heard  by  the  soul,  rather  than  seen 
by  mental  vision.  It  awakes  a  certain  mysterious  and 
unspeakable  delight,  which  we  can  refer  to  none  of  the 
common  sources  of  emotion.  To  one  who  is  insensible 
to  the  mystical  charm  of  Wordsworth's  writings,  —  who 
is  incapable  of  receiving  pleasure  except  from  palpable 
images  and  turbulent  passions,  —  a  great  part  of  the 
beauty  of  his  finest  poetry  must  be  lost.  Few  have  ever 
exceeded  him  in  the  exquisite  delicacy  of  his  sense  of 
sound.     Those  passages 

"  Through  which  the  ear  converses  with  the  heart  " 

are,  in  his  nature,  ever  open  to  external  tones  and  voices. 
In  his  own  words, 


240  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

"  A  spirit  aerial 
Informs  the  cell  of  hearing  ;  " 

and  this  spiritual  functionary  translates  to  his  soul  all 
the  music  of  the  universe  into  the  language  of  the  affec- 
tions and  the  imagination.     It  hears 

"  Humanity,  in  groves  and  fields, 
Pipe  solitary  anguish  ;  " 

it  enables  him  to  perceive 

"  The  voice  of  Deity,  on  height  and  plain, 
Whispering  tliose  truths  in  stillness,  which  the  Word 
To  the  four  quarters  of  the  world  proclaims  ;  " 

it  declares  that  "  innumerable  voices  "  fill  the  heavens 
"  with  everlasting  harmony,"  and  that 

"  The  towering  headlands  crowned  with  mist, 
Their  feet  among  the  billows,  know 
That  Ocean  is  a  mighty  harmonist ; 
Thy  pinions,  everlasting  Air, 
Ever  waving  to  and  fro. 

Are  delegates  of  harmony,  and  bear 
Strains  that  support  the  seasons  in  their  round ; 
Stern  winter  loves  a  dirge-like  sound  ;  " 

it  feels  the  mysterious  power  of  music,  and  gives  signifi- 
cance to  that 

"  Warbled  air. 
Whose  piercing  sweetness  can  unloose 
The  chains  of  frenzy,  or  entice  a  smile 
Into  the  ambush  of  despair  ;  " 

it  reveres  Duty  as  the  "  stern  daughter  of  the  Voice  of 
God,"  and  knows 

"  A  Voice  to  light  gave  being  ; 

To  time,  and  Man,  his  earth-bom  chronicler; 
A  voice  shall  finish  doubt  and  dim  foreseeing, 
And  sweep  away  life's  visionary  stir." 


WORDSWORTH.  24 1 

III  thrit  most  refined  of  imaginations, — 

"  Beauty  horn  of  murtniiring  sound, 
Did  pass  into  lier  face,"  — 

v;e  are  even  more  impressed  with  the  marvellous  delicacy 
of  the  "  spirit  aerial "  in  detecting  the  most  mysterious 
and  recondite  influences  of  tone. 

In  this  faculty  of  awaking  sentiments  of  grandeur, 
sublimity,  beauty,  afTcction,  devotion,  in  the  mind  of  the 
reader,  by  giving  voice  and  soul  to  unintelligent,  and 
often  to  inanimate  things,  and  making  them  act  upon  the 
mind  through  the  subtilest  feelings  of  our  nature,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  find  a  parallel  to  Wordsworth.  It  is  evi- 
dent, however,  that  the  fineness  of  his  imaginations 
requires  thought  and  attention  in  the  reader,  to  be  per 
ceived  and  appreciated.  For  this  reason  he  has  never 
been  widely  popular.  Few  are  willing  to  abstract  their 
minds  from  the  daily  routine  of  life,  and  bring  them  into 
harmony  with  that  of  the  poet.  Wordsworth  wrote  as 
if  all  other  men  looked  upon  the  universe  with  his  eyes. 
It  has  been  well  remarked,  that  what  he  said  like  a 
recluse,  Lord  Byron  said  like  a  man  of  the  world.  The 
men  of  the  world  called  the  former  a  meaningless  mystic, 
and  the  latter  an  inspired  bard. 

Wordsworth  did  not  consider  poetry  merely  as  an 
instrument  of  pleasure,  as  a  thing  which  men  should 
write  01  read  in  their  hours  of  recreation ;  but  he  deemed 
it  an  art,  to  which  a  long  life  might  be  profitably  devoted, 
and  that,  if  need  were,  it  should  have  its  martyrs  as  well 
as  its  disciples.  Religion,  government,  society,  science, 
philosophy,  life,  he  observed  through  a  poetic  medium. 
The  imagination  he  considered  the  most  divine  of  our 
16 


242  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

faculties.  He  gave  to  its  visions  the  authenticity  of  rev- 
elations.    It  conducted  the  soul  to  heights  which  yielded 

"  Far  stretching  views  into  eternity." 

God,  man,  and  the  universe,  could  be  read  aright  only 
through  the  vision  of  this  marvellous  power.  "  It  is  con- 
scious," he  remarks,  "  of  an  indestructible  dominion  ;  — 
the  sold  may  fall  away  from  it,  not  being  able  to  endure 
its  grandeur ;  but  if  once  felt  and  acknowledged,  by  n< 
act  of  any  other  faculty  of  the  mind  can  it  be  relaxed, 
impaired,  or  diminished."  The  understanding  ever  leads 
astray,  when  it  denies  and  rejects  the  imagination.  It 
resolves  everything  into  unconnected  parts ;  it  never, 
unaided;  can  penetrate  to  unity.  "  The  pride  of  intel- 
lect and  thought  "  he  is  continually  rebuking,  and  con- 
tinually bringing  up  to  its  view  mysteries  which  it  can- 
not explain.  He  says,  in  reference  to  some  of  the  "  great 
discoverers  "  in  physical  and  mental  science, 

"  O,  tliere  is  laughter  at  their  work  in  heaven  ' " 

and  he  exclaims, 

"Inquire  of  ancient  wisdonn  ;  go,  demand 
Of  mighty  Nature,  if 't  was  ever  meant 
That  we  should  pry  far  off,  yet  be  unraised ; 
That  we  should  pore,  and  dwindle  as  we  pore. 
Viewing  all  objects  unremittingly 
In  disconnection,  dead  and  spiritless; 
And  still  dividing  and  dividing  still. 
Break  down  all  grandeur,  still  unsatisfied 
With  the  perverse  attempt,  while  littleness 
May  yet  become  more  little  ;  waging  thus 
An  impious  warfare  with  the  very  life 
Of  our  own  souls.     And  if,  indeed,  there  be 
An  all-pervading  Spirit,  upon  whom 
Our  dark  foundations  rest,  could  he  design 


WORDSWORTH.  243 

That  this  magnificent  eflect  of  power, 
The  cartli  we  tread,  the  sky  lliat  we  hehold 
By  day,  and  all  iho  pomp  which  night  reveals, 
That  these  —  and  that  superior  mystery, 
Our  vital  frame,  so  fearfully  devised, 
And  the  dread  soul  wiihiii  it  —  should  exist 
Only  to  he  examine(l,  pondered,  searched, 
Prohed,  vexed,  and  criticized  7  " 

It  has  been  supposed  that  the  Supreme  Being-  whom 
Wordsworth  contemplates  is  produced  by  the  imagina- 
tion and  affections.  Some,  who  have  objected,  on  this 
supposition,  to  "  The  Excursion,"  as  a  work  which  ac- 
compHshes  nothing  in  divinity  and  philosophy,  have 
overlooked  one  important  distinction  in  the  poet's  notion 
of  imagination.  This  faculty,  with  him,  not  only  com- 
bines, creates,  produces,  but  is  gifted  with  insight  into 
the  objective  realities  of  the  spiritual  world.  It  sees  and 
hears,  as  well  as  makes.  In  one  of  his  sonnets,  he  refers 
to  it  as  overleaping  walls  and  gulfs  of  mystery  to  the 
Infinite  object. 

"  The  universe  is  infinitely  wide, 
And  conquering;  reason,  if  self-glorified, 
Can  nowhere  move  uncrossed  hy  some  new  wall 
Or  s^ulf  of  mystery,  which  thou  alone. 
Imaginative  Faith  !  canst  overleap, 
In  progress  toward  the  fount  of  Love." 

With  this  high  sense  of  the  uses  of  the  imagination, 
with  this  idea  of  his  art  as 

"  The  vision  and  the  faculty  divine," 

it  is  not  singular  that  Wordsworth's  self-reliance  wa.s 
never  shaken  by  calumny,  sarcasm,  and  neglect.  He  felt 
that  he  had  a  great  purpose  to  perform  in  life,  and  he  bent 
his  energies  to  it  unshrinkingly.  He  lived  in  times  of 
vast  ex:iteinent  aud  turmoil,  when  the  fountains  of  thr 


244  ESSAfS    AND    REVIEWS. 

gr(!at  deep  of  opinion  were  broken  up,  and  the  wcrla 
was  HI  disorder  and  commotion,  deluged  with  all  varieties 
of  sects  and  systems.  There  was  an  incessant  activity 
of  the  mind  and  passions,  without  any  definite  resting- 
place.  There  was  vehemence  in  asserting  and  defending 
opinions,  without  an  assured  faith  in  their  truth.  The 
material  and  spiritual  elements  at  work  in  society  were 
mutually  clashing.  He  had  experienced  deeply  these 
outward  influences,  though  the  fineness  of  his  affections 
had  preserved  him  from  their  harsher  manifestations. 
His  writings  must  be  considered  with  reference  to  the  state 
of  opinion  and  the  outward  events  of  his  time.  Even 
when  his  mind  seems  most  abstracted  from  real  life,  and 
flutters  dizzy  over  the  vanishing  points  of  human  intel- 
ligence, we  can  perceive  that  his  lofty  idealism  is  as 
sumed  for  the  purpose  of  opposing  some  modes  of 
thought,  or  orthodoxies  of  action,  which  he  deemed  the 
sins  and  follies  of  the  period.  There  is  a  controversial 
air  around  his  poetry.  The  pressure  of  surrounding  cir- 
cumstances evidently  quickened  his  intellect,  not  to  give 
an  echo,  but  a  warning.  He  desired  to  teach  a  philoso- 
phy of  the  whole  nature  of  man,  in  which  the  imagina- 
tion and  the  affections  should  be  predominant,  and  by 
which  the  relation  of  man  and  the  external  universe  to 
each  other  and  to  God,  might  be  displayed  "  in  words 
that  move  in  metrical  array."  He  hoped  to  soothe  and 
harmonize  the  soul,  by  opening  to  it  unexplored  regions 
of  loveliness  and  delight ;  by  accustoming  it  to  the  con- 
templation of  the  majesty  of  the  universe  ;  by  showing 
the  essential  littleness  implied  in  the  indulgence  of 
stormy  individual  passions  ;  and  by  healing  those  mis- 
eries which  have  their  sources  in  the  fret  and  stir  of  con- 
ventional  .ife.     He  saw   that  a  vast  proportion  of  tha 


WORDSWORTH.  S4B 

calamities  of  txistence  arise  from  the  exaggerated  esti- 
mate which  each  individual  makes  of  himself,  and  the 
desire  of  "  each  to  be  all."  For  this  individualism  he 
would  substitute  the  sentiment  of  humanity.  No  one 
yields  to  him  in  the  loftiness  of  his  views  respecting  the 
capacity  and  destiny  of  the  human  soul ;  yet  he  is  care- 
ful to  preserve  this  from  the  taint  of  vanity  and  pride. 

Wordsworth  professes  to  find  the  materials  of  poetry  in 
the  common  and  familiar  things  of  existence.  We  think 
that,  in  a  majority  of  cases,  these  common  and  familiar 
things  are  made  poetical  by  his  own  mind.  He  super- 
adds more  than  he  evolves.  He  sees  objects  as  they  are 
blended  with  his  own  thoughts  and  imaginations.  The 
common,  to  him,  is  full  of  mystery,  and  is  linked  by  a 
chain  of  mysterious  association  with  the  most  exalted 
and  kindling  truths.  Beauty,  sublimity  and  romance, 
are,  to  his  mind,  confined  to  no  period  or  country,  but 
are  ever  the  attendants  of  man  and  nature. 

"Paradise  and  ^oves 
Elysian,  Fortunate  Fields,  —  like  those  of  old 
Sought  in  the  Atlantic  main,  —  why  should  they  be 
A  history  only  of  departed  things. 
Or  a  mere  fiction  of  what  never  was? 
For  the  discerning  intellect  of  man, 
When  wedded  to  this  goodly  universe 
In  love  and  holy  passion,  shall  find  these 
A  simple  produce  of  the  common  day. 
I,  long  before  the  blissful  hour  arrives, 
Would  chant,  in  lonely  jieace,  the  spousal  verse 
Of  this  great  consummation  ;  and  by  words 
VVJiich  speak  of  nothing  more  than  what  we  are, 
Woidd  I  arouse  the  sensual  from  their  sleep 
Of  death,  and  win  the  vacant  and  the  vain 
To  noble  raptures." 

In  the  same  spirit  he  speaks  of  the  beautiful 


246  ESSAYS   AND  REVIEWS. 

"  Beaut  J  — o  living'  Presence  of  the  earth, 
Surpassing  the  most  fair  ideal  forms 
Which  craft  of  delicate  spirits  hath  composed 
From  earth's  materials,  —  waits  upuii  my  steps, 
Pitches  her  tents  before  me  as  I  move, 
An  hourly  neighbor." 

We  perceive  throughout  Wordsworth  a  kind  of  uncoil'- 
scious  distinction  preserved  between  man  and  men. 
There  is  no  limit  to  his  confidence  in  the  first,  but  he  is 
inclined  to  scan  the  second  with  distrust  and  suspicion. 
In  one  of  Godwin's  essays,  reference  is  made  to  some 
rascal  "  who  has  the  audacity  to  call  himself  a  man." 
In  Wordsworth's  mind  there  appears  something  of  this 
feeling,  though  in  a  milder  form.  The  conventional 
man,  whose  nature  is  distorted  by  the  world's  vices  both 
in  action  and  speculation,  and  who  is  unwedded  to  the 
universe  in  "  love  and  holy  passion,"  is  a  perversion  of 
man.  Hence  his  strong  tendency  to  consider  the  ele- 
ments of  human  nature,  rather  than  human  nature  as 
modified  by  society.  Hence  his  lack  of  dramatic  power. 
He  is  a  moral  critic  of  men,  rather  than  a  delineator  of 
character.  When  he  takes  pedlers  and  potters  for 
heroes,  they  are  not  those  of  real  life,  but  pedlers  and 
potters  after  a  type  in  his  own  imagination.  And  even 
then  they  have  little  congruity,  except  that  which  comes 
from  the  didactic  unity  of  their  acts  and  discourses.  Ever 
aiming  at  man  in  the  simplicity  of  his  nature,  all  that 
can  be  said  of  his  characters  is,  that  they  are  not  men, 
but  man,  —  and  man  after  Wordsworth's  image. 

Much  has  been  written  in  praise  of  WordsvA'-orth's  phi- 
losophy. If  we  consider  philosophy  as  the  product  prin- 
cipally of  the  understanding,  —  as  an  induction  from 
facts  carefully  collected  and  rigidly  analyzed,  —  it  seems 
to  us  that  Wordsworth's  claims  to  distinction  among  met- 


WORDSWORTH.  24*7 

aphysicians  must  be  small.  He  does  not  reason  up  to 
principles,  or  down  from  principles,  but  he  proclaims  and 
asserts  principles.  A  reasoner  would  not  be  influenced 
at  all  by  the  theories  of  God  and  the  universe  scattered 
over  his  works.  In  short,  he  pursues  the  poetic  rather 
than  the  philosophic  method.  His  disposition  to  sneer 
at  exclusive  reason,  and  his  deficiency  in  that  dramatic 
imagination  by  which  a  poet  conceives  beings  differently 
constituted  from  himself,  and  lives  for  the  time  their 
thoughts  and  feelings,  would  naturally  narrow  his  philos- 
ophy of  human  life  to  the  range  of  his  own  experience, 
and  restrict  the  authority  of  his  metaphysical  teachings 
to  those  whose  minds  saw  things  in  the  same  light  in 
which  they  were  viewed  by  himself.  Shelley  says,  that 
a  man  "  to  be  greatly  good,  must  imagine  intensely  and 
comprehensively;  he  must  put  himself  in  the  place  of 
another,  and  of  many  others  ;  the  pains  and  pleasures 
of  his  species  must  become  his  own."  Now,  the  pains 
and  pleasures  of  the  species  Wordsworth  desires  to  make 
his  own ;  but  in  maldng  them  his  own,  he  makes  thera 
Wordsivorthian.  The  pains  and  pleasures  that  the  race 
ought  to  feel,  rather  than  those  which  they  do  feel,  are 
represented  in  his  writings.  And  it  is  the  same  with 
•Shelley. 

But  the  objection  which  would  be  made  to  Words- 
worth as  a  philosopher,  is  the  inconsistency  of  his  state- 
ments. From  the  observation  of  certain  mental  phenom- 
ena, awakened  by  some  mysterious  external  influences, 
the  Platonic  doctrine  of  preexistence  has  been  inferred , 
the  contemplations  of  other  philosophers  have  led  them 
to  pantheism  ;  the  meditations  of  others  have  resulted 
in  the  acknowledgment  of  a  Supreme  Infinite  Being. 
Now,  in  Wordsworth,  we  perceive  each  of  ttese  sy&temt 


24S  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

poetically  stated.  They  have  a  poetical  consistency,  as 
they  were  the  melodious  utterances  of  the  bard,  when 
the  phenomena  from  which  each  is  inferred  pressed  most 
heavily  on  his  spirit.  But  it  is  evident  that  a  philoso- 
pher would  have  attempted  to  harmonize  these  by  a  pro- 
cess of  reasoning.  He  would  never  have  admitted  them 
into  his  system,  without  modifying  the  character  of  each 
in  such  a  manner  that  they  would  form  one  consistent 
theory.  But  with  the  poet  it  is  diflferent.  He  feels  more 
intensely  at  some  periods  than  he  does  at  others  the  dif- 
ferent states  of  mind  which  each  system  represents,  and 
he  pours  out  the  thoughts  and  impulses  of  the  moment 
as  if  they  constituted  his  whole  nature.  He  sees  or 
thinks  he  sees,  hears,  or  thinks  he  hears,  in  the  visible 
or  in  the  transcendental  world,  certain  spiritual  realities; 
and  he  gives  them  shape,  sound,  or  hue,  without  regard 
to  their  limitations  in  reason. 

The  intensity  with  which  Wordsworth  undoubtedly 
meditates  has  probably  done  much  to  give  him  a  great 
reputation  as  a  reasoner;  but  between  reasoning  and 
meditation  we  conceive  there  is  a  marked  diflference, 
especially  in  the  action  of  a  poetical  mind.  We  believe, 
that,  if  "  The  Excursion'"  were  stripped  of  its  radiant 
dress  of  imagination,  and  reduced  to  a  plain  prose  trea-* 
tise  on  ethics  and  metaphysics,  it  would  be  acknowledged 
to  contain  many  common  and  important,  and  many 
subtile,  truths ;  but  to  present,  on  the  whole,  quite  an 
unphilosophical  blending  of  assertion  and  deduction, 
resulting  in  inharmonious  and  contradictory  theories. 

It  is  as  a  poet,  therefore,  rather  than  as  a  philosopher, 
that  Wordsworth  is  to  be  considered ;  for  when  he  deals 
with  the  themes  of  philosophy,  he  pursues  the  poetical 
method.     The  question,  whether  this  method  be  the  :or- 


WORDSWORTH. 

lect  one,  or  whether  the  things  which  it  proclaims  from 
insight  be  entitled  to  rank  among  facts,  we  shall  not  dis- 
cuss. The  confidence  wliich  men  will  place  in  them 
will  depend  on  the  notions  they  entertain  of  the  scope  of 
the  imagination,  and  the  measure  in  which  they  them- 
selves possess  it.  The  pleasure,  likewise,  which  will  be 
experienced  from  Wordsworth's  poetry,  will  depend  on 
the  sympathies  which  the  reader  has  in  common  with  the 
poet.  To  persons  either  of  fiery  sensibility  or  cold  un- 
derstanding it  would  give  but  little  satisfaction.  To  one 
it  would  appear  tame,  to  the  other  mystical.  Though 
his  writings  are  not  barren  of  those  bursts  of  fine  frenzy 
which  we  all  love  to  consider  as  characteristic  of  the 
bard,  his  nature  is  rather  contemplative  than  impulsive. 
His  imagination  is  most  affluent  when  it  is  pervaded  by 
a  calm,  yet  intense  and  lofty,  spirit  of  meditation ;  and 
its  productions,  therefore,  do  not  se^^m  so  spontaneous  as 
if  they  gushed  out  in  a  stream  of  passionate  feeling, 
under  the  influence  of  uncontrollable  excitement.  In- 
deed, in  his  most  elevated  flights,  his  soul  seems  humbled 
and  awed  before  the  Presence  into  which  it  comes,  and 
hesitates  to  bring  the  fierce  fire  of  human  passions  into 
regions,  "  to  which  the  heaven  of  heavens  is  but  a  veil." 
He  is  above  the  tempests  and  turbulence  of  life,  and 
moves  in  regions  where  serenity  is  strength,  and  where 
he  can  perceive  the  "  central  peace  " 

"  Subsisting  at  the  heart 
Of  endless  agitation." 

The  height  and  intensity  of  his  feeling  destroy  the  ap- 
pearance of  power,  even  when  penetrated  by  its  essence. 
In  reading  poetry',  we  are  in  danger  of  being  deluded 
into  panegyric  l)y  mere  sound.  Carlyle  truly  says,  that 
'■*we  do  not  call   that  man   strong  who  takes  convulsion 


250  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

€ts,  though  in  that  state  ten  men  cannot  hold  him."  The 
b^oad,  deep  river  of  song,  having  its  fountain  in  the  hu- 
man heart,  and  flovi'ing  onward  to  the  one  great  ocean, 
may  make  less  noise  in  its  progress  than  the  glittering 
■rivulet,  which  babbles  and  chatters  the  whole  of  its  shal- 
tow  way.  But  the  rivulet  dries  up  in  the  sun  ;  the  river 
flows  on  forever. 

Wordsworth,  as  a  delineator  of  the  heart,  is  not  so  suc- 
cessful with  the  passions  as  with  the  affections.  He  has 
little  of  the  Titan  spirit  in  his  constitution.  His  pas- 
sion is  "  holy  passion,"  —  affection  rendered  intense  by 
thought  and  imagination,  and  denuded  of  its  strictly 
physical  and  earthly  qualities.  There  is  an  indescriba- 
ble holiness  and  tenderness  in  his  illustrations  of  the 
affections.  The  occasional  puerilities  of  expression  in 
his  early  poems  are  not  sufficient  to  break  the  chann 
they  exercise  on  susceptible  minds.  We  feel,  in  reading 
them,  the  exquisite  delicacy  of  his  perception  of  the 
heart's  immunities.  There  is  no  grade  of  life  or  being, 
which  does  not  rise  in  our  estimation  and  love,  after  it 
has  been  consecrated  by  his  feelings.  The  beauty,  dig- 
nity, and  worth  of  human  nature,  are  more  powerfully 
impressed  upon  our  minds,  after  being  thus  taught  the 
greatness  and  tenderness  of  which  it  is  capable,  in  the 
exercisu  of  its  most  common  attributes.  We  are  made 
to  feel  that  the  unselfish  affections  are  always  to  be  hon- 
ored and  admired,  as  much  in  the  humble  and  unin- 
structed,  as  in  the  noble  and  most  intelligent;  that 
self-devotion  is  a  greater  thing  than  self-aggrandize- 
ment, though  the  former  exist  in  a  peasant,  and  the 
latter  in  a  prince.  Wordsworth's  power  of  abstracting 
the  sentiment  from  the  circumstances  which  surround 
Vt,  ?nd  making  it  stand  out  in   the  pure  light  of  its  own 


WOBDSWORTH.  251 

nature,  is  one  prominent  cause  of  the  effect  it  has  upon 
the  feelings,  A  dramatist  would  include  in  his  repre- 
sentation the  whole  character  of  the  individual  possess- 
ing it ;  and  if  there  were  anything  in  its  accompani- 
ments to  awaken  other  emotions,  they  would  have  their 
due  place ;  so  that  the  result  upon  the  reader  would 
closely  resemble  that  of  an  incident  in  real  life.  We  all 
know  that  the  sight  of  poverty  and  distress  is  not 
always  unaccompanied  by  ludicrous  sensations,  and  that 
there  is  often  as  much  to  excite  disgust  as  pity.  All  per- 
sons are  not  able  to  survey  humility,  faith,  and  self-sac- 
rifice, in  the  poor  and  unintelligent,  with  the  pure  feeling 
of  respect.  The  taste,  cultivation,  and  associations  of 
the  observer,  modify  his  perception  of  these  qualities  in 
others.  Buf  Wordsworth  would  impress  us  with  so  deep 
a  veneration  for  them,  that,  when  recognized  in  any 
form,  they  should  not  only  be  sacred  from  ridicule,  but 
should  make  us  feel  our  own  littleness  in  comparison. 
It  is  this  very  absence  of  dramatic  power,  this  devotion 
to  the  thing  itself,  without  regard  to  our  associations 
growing  out  of  the  accidents  of  its  situation,  which  con- 
fers upon  Wordsworth's  delineations  of  the  affections  so 
much  potency.  They  for.m  an  era  in  the  life  of  every 
man  who  reads  them.  They  teach  that  man  has  a  prop- 
erty in  his  affections,  which  should  be  as  sacred  from 
violation  as  any  which  the  law  protects.  Their  influ- 
ence is  felt  unconsciously  by  many  who  have  read  only 
to  deride.  On  some  men,  we  have  no  doubt,  they  have 
wrought  a  complete  revolution  in  the  feelings  with  which 
they  regarded  their  fellow-beings.  Their  extensive  cir- 
culation would  be  desired  not  only  by  the  lovers  of  beauty 
and  sentiment,  but  by  all  who  would  break  down  the 
barriers  of  selfishness,  distrust,  and  pride,  v;hich  sepa- 


ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

rate  man  from  man.  We  believe  that  they  are  yet  des- 
tined to  exert,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  a  vast  and 
beneficial  influence  upon  society,  by  their  agency  in  the 
imperceptible  changes  wrought  in  the  manners  and  feel- 
ings of  men,  through  the  diff'usion  of  just  and  beautiful 
sentiments  of  benevolence,  charity,  and  love. 

The  grace,  purity,  and  harmony,  which  the  fineness 
of  Wordsworth's  affections  often  lends  to  his  style  and 
thought,  are  in  the  highest  degree  poetical.  It  would 
be  an  easy  labor  to  fill  many  pages  in  illustration.  In 
"  Vaudracour  and  Julia,"  we  hive  the  following  descrip- 
tion of  love,  which,  for  simplicity  and  truth,  and  the  fine 
blending  of  imagination  with  feeling,  so  as  to  soften 
passion  into  beauty  without  shearing  it  of  its  strength, 
can  hardly  be  excelled. 

"  Arabian  fiction  never  filled  the  world 
With  half  the  wonders  that  were  wrought  for  him. 
Earth  breathed  in  one  great  presence  of  the  spring ; 
Life  turned  the  meanest  of  her  implements, 
Before  his  eyes,  to  price  above  all  gold  ; 
The  house  she  dwelt  in  was  a  sainted  shrine  ; 
Her  chamber  window  did  surpass  in  glory 
The  portals  of  the  dawn  ;   all  paradise 
Could,  by  the  simple  opening  of  a  door, 
Let  itself  in  upon  him  ;  pathways,  walks, 
Swarmed  with  enchantment,  till  his  spirit  sank, 
Surcharged,  within  him,  — overblest  to  move 
Beneath  a  sun  that  wakes  a  weary  world 
To  its  dull  round  of  ordinary  cares  ; 
A  man  too  happy  for  mortality ! " 

The  following  sonnet  appears  to  us  to  present  a  sin- 
gular combination  of  the  most  powerful  and  intense  med- 
itation with  the  utmost  sweetness  of  feeling, 

"  It  is  a  beauteous  evening,  calm  and  free 
The  holy  time  is  quiet  as  a  nun 
Breathless  with  adoration  ;  the  broul  sun 


■WORDSWORTH.  253 

Is  sinking  down  in  its  tranquillity ; 
The  gentleness  of  heaven  is  on  the  sea ; 

Listen  !  the  mighty  Being  is  awake, 

And  doth  with  his  eternal  motion  make 
A  sound  like  thunder  —  everlastingly. 
Dear  child  !  dear  girl !  that  walkesl  with  me  here, 

If  thou  appear'st  untouched  hy  solemn  thought, 
Thy  nature  is  not  therefore  less  divine: 
Thou  Host  in  Abraham's  bosom  all  the  year; 
And  worshipp'sl  at  the  temple's  inner  shrine, 

God  being  with  thee  when  we  know  it  not." 

The  dosing  stanzas  of  the  poem  which  succeeds  have 
Hutching  delicacy  and  grace  of  feeling  and  expression, 
which  alone  would  enable  Wordsworth  to  find  his  way 
into  every  loving  heart. 

A  POET'S  EPITAPH. 

"  Art  thou  a  statesman,  in  the  van 

Of  public  business  trained  and  bred  ?  — 
First  learn  to  love  one  living  man  ; 
Then  mayst  thou  think  upon  the  dead. 

"  A  lawyer  art  thou  7  —  draw  not  nigh ; 
Go,  carry  to  some  fitter  place 
The  keenness  of  that  practised  eye, 
The  hardness  of  that  sallow  face. 

"  Art  thou  a  man  of  purple  cheer,  — 
A  rosy  man,  right  plump  to  see?  — 
Approach  ;  yet,  Doctor,  not  too  near ; 
This  grave  no  cushion  is  for  thee. 

"  Or  art  thou  one  of  gallant  pride, 
A  soldier,  and  no  man  of  chaff!  — 
Welcome  I  —  but  lay  thy  sword  aside, 
And  lean  upon  a  peasant's  staff. 

"Physician  art  thou?  one,  all  eyes, 
Philosof>"j;:  ?  a  fingering  slave. 
One  iJiat  would  peep  and  botaniz'O 
Upon  his  mc  thcr's  grave  ? 


254  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

"  Wrapt  closely  in  thy  sensual  fleece, 
O,  turn  aside,  and  take,  I  pray, 
That  he  below  may  rest  in  peace, 
That  abject  thuig,  thy  soul,  away ! 

*  A  moralist  perchance  appears  ; 

Led,  Heaven  knows  how!  to  this  poor  sod| 
And  he  has  neither  eyes  nor  ears  ; 
Himself  his  world,  and  his  own  God  ; 

•'  One  to  whose  smooth-rubbed  soul  can  cling 
Nor  form,  nor  feeling,  great  or  small ; 
A  reasoning,  self-sufficing  thing, 
An  intellectual  All-in-all ! 

"  Shut  close  the  door  ;  press  down  the  latch; 
Sleep  in  thy  intellectual  crust ; 
Nor  lose  ten  tickings  of  thy  watch 
Near  this  unprofitable  dust. 

'  But  who  is  he,  with  modest  looks, 
And  clad  in  homely  russet  brown? 
He  murmurs  near  the  running  brooks 
A  music  sweeter  than  their  own. 

•'  He  is  retired  as  noontide  dew, 
Or  fountain  in  a  noonday  grove  ; 
And  you  must  love  him,  ere  to  you 
He  will  seem  worthy  ©f  your  love. 

'The  outward  shows  of  sky  and  earth, 
Of  hill  and  valley,  he  has  viewed  ; 
And  impulses  of  deeper  birth 
Have  come  to  him  in  solitude. 

In  common  things  that  round  us  lie 
Some  random  truths  he  can  impart,  — 

The  harvest  of  a  quiet  eye 
That  broods  and  sleeps  on  his  own  heaiC 

<  But  he  is  weak,  both  man  and  boy. 
Hath  been  an  idler  in  the  land  ; 
Contented  if  he  might  enjoy 
The  things  which  others  understand. 


WORDSWORTH.  255 

"  Come  hither  in  thy  hour  of  strength ; 
Come,  weak  as  is  a  breaking  wavp  ! 
Here  stretch  thy  body  at  full  length, 
Or  build  thy  house  upon  this  grave." 

As  far  as  any  of  Wordsworth's  poems  are  narratives, 
tiiey  are  narratives  of  thoughts  and  emotions,  rather  than 
actions.  Meditation,  imagination,  and  description,  gen- 
erally commingled  in  their  operation,  and  bearing  every- 
where the  legible  impress  of  his  own  individuality, 
appear  to  be  the  characteristics  of  his  poems.  In  the 
invention  of  character  and  incident  he  is  deficient.  The 
skeletons  of  his  narratives  present  few  points  of  interest 
and  novelty.  The  filling  up  constitutes  their  value. 
"  Peter  Bell  "  is  an  example,  the  story  being  simply 
this,  A  vulgar  potter,  journeying  through  a  wood,  spies 
an  ass  kneeling  beside  a  stream,  and  forms  the  intention 
of  appropriating  him  to  his  own  use.  He  mounts  him, 
but  the  animal  refuses  to  move,  and  his  firmness  is  not 
Bhaken  by  the  most  furious  blows.  It  appears  that  the 
ass  is  keeping  watch  on  the  spot  where  his  master  has 
fallen  into  the  water,  and  that  he  has  been  there  three  or 
four  days  without  food,  Peter  is  affected  by  what  he 
sees,  comes  to  an  understanding  with  the  animal,  is  con- 
ducted to  the  house  of  the  drowned  man,  informs  his 
wife  and  children  of  the  accident,  is  touched  to  the  heart 
by  their  sorrow,  muses  desperately  for  some  time  on  his 
condition,  and 

"After  ten  months'  melancholy. 
Becomes  a  good  and  honest  man." 

This  is  what  may  be  called  the  story  of  the  poem,  and  it 
seems  sufficiently  puerile.  There  are  many  stanzas, 
likewise,  which  are  calculated  to  relax  the  most  riofid 


256  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

muscles  of  the  most  rigid  Wordsworthian.  But  the 
poem,  considered  as  a  whole,  and  viewed  in  regard  to 
its  meditations  and  descriptions,  is  grand  and  beautiful. 
In  the  peculiar  excellence  of  some  of  its  details,  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find  its  parallel.  The  description 
of  Peter's  intellectual  and  corporeal  frame,  and  the 
external  influences  to  which  he  was  subjected  in  the 
formation  and  redemption  of  his  character,  is  exact,  and 
highly  imaginative,  both  in  conception  and  expression. 
The  manner  in  which  nature  and  human  life  are  calcu- 
lated to  affect  a  heart  naturally  callous,  and  minister  to 
its  worst  feelings,  is  traced  with  skilful  power. 

"  To  all  the  unshaped,  half-human  thoughts 
Which  solitary  Nature  feeds 
'Mid  summer  storms  or  winter's  ice, 
Had  Peter  joined  whatever  vice 
The  cruel  city  breeds. 

"  He  had  a  dark  and  sidelong  walk, 

And  long  and  slouching  was  his  gait ; 
Beneath  his  looks,  so  hare  and  bold, 
You  might  perceive  his  spirit  cold 
Was  playing  with  some  inward  bait." 

The  skeleton  of  the  story  hardly  rises  above  that  ot  a 
nursery  tale ;  the  thoughts,  emotions,  and  imaginations, 
which  it  includes,  are  in  the  highest  spirit  of  a  profound 
poetical  philosophy. 

The  ridicule  which  has  been  heaped  upon  Words- 
worth for  the  occasional  singularities  and  tastelessness 
of  his  diction,  we  have  no  desire  to  echo.  The  courage 
with  which  he  bore  both  it  and  the  unpopularity  which 
it  excited,  is  one  sign,  at  least,  that  the  faults  were  not 
mere  affectations.  His  works  were  successively  received 
by  the  dominant  critics  in  Edinburgh  with  a  vald  peal 


■WORDSWORTH.  257 

of  elvish  laughter,  which  rang  far  and  wide  over  Great 
Britain ;  but  he  still  labored  patiently  on,  with  a  devout 
willingness  to  bide  his  time.  To  attack  him  with  the 
weapon  of  ridicule  was,  indeed, 

"  Tilling  with  a  straw 
Against  a  champion  cased  in  adamant." 

In  truth,  Wordsworth's  insensibility  to  ridicule  was,  to 
some  extent,  the  source  of  many  of  tlie  faults  which 
provoked  it.  He  seems  to  have  had,  comparatively,  no 
appreciation  of  the  ludicrous.  He  was  too  grave  and 
earnest  himself  to  calculate  the  effect  of  certain  phrases 
and  modes  of  expression  upon  minds  which  associated 
ideas  differently.  If  a  subject  seemed  to  him  dignified 
by  innate  properties,  or  a  word  appeared  to  him  pictur- 
esque or  expressive,  he  did  not  inquire  how  it  would  be 
regarded  by  others.  He  dwelt  too  much  in  his  own 
mind,  brooded  too  intensely  over  his  own  consciousness, 
lived  a  life  too  much  apart  from  the  flippancies  and 
vivacities  of  society,  to  appreciate  the  condition  of  minds 
differently  constituted,  and  subjected  to  different  influ- 
ences. The  insignificant  number  of  his  violations  of 
the  established  decencies  of  diction  is,  when  we  consider 
this  fact,  a  good  proof  of  his  natural  taste.  The  dis- 
honesty of  his  adversaries  consisted  in  quoting  detached 
fragments  of  his  works  as  characteristic  of  the  whole, 
and  thus  misrepresenting  him  to  the  public.  Imagina- 
tions that  "  soared  into  the  highest  heaven  of  invention," 
thoughts  of  imperishable  worth  and  grandeur,  images  of 
almost  unspeakable  beauty,  sentiments  of  heavenly  grace 
and  purity,  sweet  humanities,  calculated  to  find  a  home 
in  every  earnest  heart,  were  overlooked  or  scoffed  at, 
except  by  the  pickpockets  of  letters,  because  they  wen 
17 


258  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

sometimes  accompanied  by  errors  of  taste  and  diffuseness 
of  expression.  Of  course,  such  conduct  made  his  few 
sympathizing  readers  champions  of  his  errors  of  taste, 
and  defenders  of  his  diffuseness  of  expression. 

The  character  and  influence  of  Wordsworth  have, 
indeed,  been  doomed  to  suffer  almost  as  much  from  the 
raptures  of  his  disciples  as  from  the  sarcasms  of  his 
adversaries.  Men  who  could  see  nothing  but  puerilities 
in  his  "  divine  philosophy,"  and  men  who  could  see 
nothing  but  "  divine  philosophy  "  in  his  puerilities,  have 
both  contributed  to  injure  his  reputation.  The  injustice 
he  experienced  from  the  sneering  critics  naturally 
changed  his  admirers  into  partisans.  To  settle  his 
position  in  the  sliding  scale  of  English  poets  was  a 
task  of  some  difficulty;  to  call  him  a  dreaming  old 
woman,  or  a  Heaven-inspired  prophet,  required  but  a 
glib  motion  of  the  tongue,  or  a  few  dashes  of  the  pen. 
Consequently,  he  was  not  judged,  but  abused  and  eulo- 
gized ;  ridiculed  in  newspapers  and  quoted  in  sermons  ; 
a  butt  for  the  reviews  and  a  pet  for  the  parsons.  For  a 
number  of  years,  the  author  of  "  Peter  Bell  "  and  "  The 
Excursion,"  works  replete  with  elevation  of  thought 
and  grandeur  of  imagination,  was  believed  by  many 
lovers  of  poetry  to  be  a  queer  old  gentleman,  residing 
somewhere  about  the  Lakes  in  Westmoreland,  and 
spending  his  time,  like  Irving's  Dutch  burgomaster,  in 
doing  a  deal  of  unintelligible  thinking,  and  catching  at 
ideas  by  the  tail.  He  was  accused  of  laboring  under 
the  melancholy  delusion,  that  he  was  the  only  poet  of 
nis  day,  and  of  putting  forth  certain  quantities  of  mys- 
tical trash  every  year  to  sustain  his  pretensions ;  and  of 
reproducing  in  the  literature  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
those  curious  legends  of  John  Spratt  and  Master  Homer, 


WORDSWORTH.  259 

which  had  already  been  immortalized  in  the  lyrics  of  an 
equally  gifted  old  woman. 

Lord  Byron  favored  these  unfounded  prejudices  by  all 
the  means  in  his  power.  It  was  policy  in  him  to  profess 
ignorance  of  Spenser,  and  contempt  of  Wordsworth.  His 
remark  on  "  The  Excursion  "  is  characteristic.  "  It  was 
clumsy,  and  frowsy,  and  his  aversion."  He  acknowl- 
edged that  there  was  "  some  talent  spilt  over  it ;  but  it 
was  like  rain  upon  rocks,  which  falls  and  stagnates,  or 
rain  upon  sands,  which  falls  without  fertilizing."  He 
knew  well  how  to  seize  upon  those  peculiarities  of  a 
poet  which  he  thought  calculated  to  be  popular,  and, 
after  disguising  them  in  the  splendid  apparel  of  his  own 
diction,  and  infusing  into  them  the  marvellous  energy  of 
his  own  passions,  to  represent  their  original  proprietor  as 
worthy  only  of  his  lordly  sarcasm  and  disdain.  His  con- 
duct in  this  respect  reminds  us  of  what  Dryden  says  of 
Ben  Jonson's  plagiarisms :  —  "  He  has  done  his  rob- 
beries so  openly  that  we  see  he  fears  not  to  be  taxed  by 
any  law.  He  invades  authors  like  a  monarch,  and  what 
would  be  theft  in  any  other  poet  is  only  victory  in  him." 

Jeffrey's  criticisms  on  Wordsworth,  in  the  Edinburgh 
Review,  probably  contributed  more  than  anything  else  to 
the  comparative  neglect  with  whicli  his  poems  were 
treated  by  the  public.  These  criticisms  it  is  curious  to 
read  now,  after  they  have  lost  all  their  sting,  and  are 
monuments  only  of  the  writer's  brilliancy  and  bitterness. 
It  would  be  wrong  to  assert  that  they  do  not  contain 
some  just  remarks;  but  those  who  defend  them  overlook 
one  important  fact.  Nobody  complains  that  they  lidi- 
vuled  some  perversities  of  the  poet's  taste,  but  that  tbey 
also  scoffed  at  the  finest  products  of  his  peculiar  genius. 
The  "  Ode  to  Duty,"  and  the  ode  on  the  "  IrjUmatiooi 


260  ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS. 

of  Immortality  from  Recollections  of  Early  Childhood," 
receive  little  better  treatment  than  such  couplets  as 
this :  — 

"A  household  tub,  like  one  of  those 
Which  women  use  to  wash  their  clothes." 

The  critique  on  "  The  Excursion  "  is,  with  all  its  clever» 
ness,  one  of  the  most  flippant,  shallow,  and  inconsistent 
essays  ever  written.  Some  of  the  best  passages  in  the 
poem,  —  that,  for  instance,  which  describes  the  sensa- 
tions of  the  "  growing  youth," 

"  When,  from  the  naked  top 
Of  some  bold  headland,  he  beheld  the  sun 
Rise  up,  and  bathe  the  world  in  light,"  — 

are  quoted  only  to  be  dismissed  with  the  title  of  "  stuff.' 
It  is  the  incapacity  to  discern  merit,  not  the  exposure  of 
a  few  errors,  which  has  turned  these  criticisms  from 
satires  on  Wordsworth  to  satires  on  their  author.  Jef- 
frey's subtilty  was  altogether  of  the  understanding.  The 
most  refined  processes  of  feeling  and  imagination  were 
lost  upon  him.  His  talents  were  never  employed  to 
more  disadvantage  than  when  he  attempted  to  criticize 
Wordsworth  and  Coleridge.  The  commiseration  he 
expresses  for  the  perversions  of  their  genius,  when  he 
censures  those  very  passages  of  their  poems  which  are 
now  considered  the  signs  of  their  genius,  appears  at  the 
present  day  more  ludicrous  than  his  most  felicitous  jests. 
But  a  portion  of  Wordsworth's  unpopularity  in  former 
years  was  undoubtedly  owing  to  the  faults  of  his  own 
temper  and  disposition.  That  his  writings  did  not  sooner 
begin  their  ministry  of  good  to  the  people,  must  be 
attributed  in  some  degree  to  himself.  He  gave  his 
adversaries   the   advantage   over   I'im,  by  adhering   to 


WORDSWORTH.  261 

faulfa  of  taste  which  he  knew  would  be  ridiculed.  Be- 
sides, he  had  been  in  his  youth  a  republican.  He  became 
afterwards  a  conservative,  and,  at  times,  volunteered  his 
opinions  on  political  matters  with  no  small  bitterness 
of  expression.  He  seemed  to  rely  too  much  on  the 
"  strength  of  backward-looking  thoughts,"  and  to  be  too 
deeply  impressed  with  the  "  care  prospective  of  our  wise 
forefathers,"  to  please  an  age  mad  with  excitement  about 
the  present  and  the  future.  His  love  for  England  and 
English  institutions  was  too  undisceming.  He  celebrated 
in  verse  many  events  which  were  deemed  ominous  to 
the  cause  of  liberty.  In  truth,  when  Wordsworth  deals 
with  virtue,  freedom,  justice,  and  truth,  in  the  abstract, 
or  blends  them  with  majestic  images  dra^vTl  from  the 
sublimest  aspects  of  the  universe,  no  poet  can  be  more 
grand  and  impressive ;  but  when  he  connects  these  with 
the  acts  and  policy  of  the  English  tory  politicians,  or 
with  the  state  and  church  of  England,  we  are  conscious 
that  the  analogy  is  false,  if  not  ludicrous.  Many  have 
accordingly  classed  him  with  the  poets  of  the  past,  rather 
than  with  the  poets  of  the  future,  and  have  denied  his 
claim  to  rank  with  those  who  sing  prophecies  of  a  new 
and  better  era  for  humanity.  This  opinion  seems  now 
to  prevail,  even  among  those  who  acknowledge  the  vast 
services  he  has  performed  to  literature,  and  the  importance 
of  the  revolution  in  poetry  which  he  has  done  so  much  to 
achieve. 

In  our  opinion  this  is  a  sophism,  arising  from  a  con- 
fusion of  things  essentially  different.  Wordsworth  may 
be  a  politician  of  the  past,  but  he  is  emphatically  a  poet 
of  the  future.  We  have  already  alluded  to  his  lack  of 
practical  understanding,  and  his  ignorance  of  the  ways 
of  men.     He  surveyed  things  tlirough  a  poetical  medium. 


262  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

and  did  not,  therefore,  see  them  as  they  are,  in  the  strict 
meaning  of  the  term.  His  practical  deductions  are 
accordingly  incorrect,  for  his  premises  are  ideal.  Lord 
Bacon's  definition  of  poetry  comprehends  the  whole  mat- 
ter. "Poetry  serveth  and  conferreth  to  magnanimity, 
morality,  and  to  delectation.  And,  therefore,  it  was  ever 
thought  to  have  some  participation  of  divineness,  because 
it  doth  raise  and  erect  the  mind,  by  submitting  the  shows 
of  things  to  the  desires  of  the  njind."  Now,  Wordsworth, 
whether  he  appears  to  sing  of  the  past  or  the  present,  is, 
in  reality,  singing  of  the  future.  His  England  of  a  thou- 
sand years  past  is  the  Utopia  of  a  thousand  years  to 
come.  It  is  false  history  and  true  poetry.  If  he  give 
objective  existence  to  the  ideals  of  his  mind  in  one  point 
of  space  or  time  rather  than  another,  the  character  of  the 
ideal  still  remains  the  same.  They  are  ideals  which,  in 
fact,  have  never  been  realized,  and  which  accordingly 
relate  to  some  period  far  in  advance  of  our  own.  They 
refer  to  a  state  of  society,  which  the  lowness  of  the  ideals 
of  many  who  object  to  his  conservatism  incapacitates 
them  from  anticipating.  If,  by  some  perversity  of  vision, 
the  poet  tliinks  he  sees  his  aspirations  partly  realized  in 
a  corrupt  government  or  in  slavish  institutions,  the  blame 
is  to  be  laid  to  his  eye,  not  to  his  soul. 

We  will  illustrate  this  by  a  few  extracts.  The  sixth 
book  of  "  The  Excursion  "  begins  thus  :  — 

"  Hail  to  the  crown,  by  Freedom  shaped,  to  gird 
An  English  sovereign's  brow !  and  to  the  throne 
Whereon  he  sits  !  whose  deep  foundations  lie 
In  veneration  and  the  people's  love." 

Now,  this  is  false  history.  It  is  true  of  no  government 
in  existence.  A  politician,  of  either  whig  or  tory  prin- 
ciples, would  despise  himself  for  saying  so  verdant  a 


WOEDSWORTH.  263 

thing.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  prophecy  of  the  time  when  the 
state  will  be  so  pure  as  to  be  seated  in  "  veneration  and 
a  people's  love."  The  salutation  whicii  follows,  to  the 
church,  is  to  be  interpreted  with  the  same  eye  to  a  better 
condition  of  the  morals  and  piety  of  the  clergy.  That 
this  is  the  case  may  be  seen  from  the  sonnet  to  the 
memory  of  Milton,  in  1S02  :  — 

"Milton,  thou  shoulilst  be  living  at  this  hour! 
England  hath  need  of  thee  ;  she  is  a  fen 
Of  stagnant  waters  ;  cdtar,  sword,  and  pen, 
Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  oj" hull  and  bower, 
Have  forfeited  their  ancient  English  dower 
Of  inward  happiness." 

Here  church,  state,  and  the  whole  society  of  England,  are 
represented  as  "  a  fen  of  stagnant  waters."  Now,  both 
representations  cannot  be  true ;  and  yet  both  were  un- 
doubtedly projected  from  the  poet's  mind,  and  are  signifi- 
cant, not  of  the  real  condition  of  his  country,  but  of  the 
change  in  his  feelings  from  despondency  to  hope.  There 
is  no  poetical  inconsistency  between  the  two.  The  last 
represents  disgust  at  the  present,  arising  from  a  compari- 
son of  the  present  with  the  ideal ;  the  first  represents  the 
ideal  projected  upon  the  present.  In  both  cases  exag- 
geration is  the  natural  result. 

To  prove  that  Wordsworth  is  not  a  poet  of  the  future, 
we  must  prove  that  he  did  not  advance  beyond  the  pres- 
ent. Now,  it  would  be  difficult  to  name  any  contempo- 
rary poet  whose  ideals  are  higher  than  his.  Lord  Byron 
is  generally  considered  his  superior  in  this  respect,  be- 
cause he  had  a  harsh  and  jarring  string  in  his  lyre,  and 
sang  of  revolution,  and  hailed  the  destruction  of  tynnta 
by  the  sword  and  the  axe.  In  this  respect,  we  humbly 
think  that  he  was  a  poet  of  the  past,  for  nothing  can  bo 


264  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

less  original  than  this  mode  of  disposing  of  the  world's 
oppressors.  The  quickest,  surest,  most  natural,  and  most 
common  method  of  obtaining  rights,  is  to  kill  him  who 
deprives  you  of  them.  This,  so  far,  has  been  the  opin- 
ion of  the  human  race,  and  has  been  expressed  in  divers 
ways  at  divers  times.  But  one,  in  whose  soul  abide  the 
eternal  forms  of  beauty,  goodness,  truth,  and  virtue,  — 
whose  heart  comprehends  all  mankind  in  its  love,  and 
thirsts  for  a  period  when  universal  benevolence  will  pre- 
vail upon  the  earth,  —  who  would  sing,  "  long  before  the 
blissful  hour  arrives,"  the  peaceful  triumph  of  good  over 
evil,  and  right  over  wrong,  —  to  such  a  one,  the  usual 
mode  of  despatching  oppressors  is  apt  to  be  distasteful. 
He  may  think,  that,  in  the  present  condition  of  things, 
the  common  course  has  its  advantages  ;  but  if  he  desires 
to  impress  on  the  hearts  and  imaginations  of  the  people 
a  model  of  a  perfect  state  of  society,  he  will,  if  he  is  a 
bard  of  the  future,  be  likely  to  leave  out  some  of  the 
harsh  and  imperfect  means  and  materials  of  the  present. 
This,  at  least,  was  the  feeling  of  Wordsworth  and  Shel- 
ley; and  this,  we  humbly  conceive,  is  the  Christian 
feeling. 

Wordsworth  is  considered  a  champion  of  monarchy 
and  aristocracy.  We  do  not  know  but  that  there  may 
be  opinions  expressed  in  his  writings  which  can  be  forced 
to  bear  a  construction  inimical  to  political  liberty ;  still, 
if  we  consider  the  tendency  of  his  whole  works,  we  shall 
find  them  in  the  highest  degree  democratic.  "  The  rights 
of  man  "  is  a  phrase  to  which  he  gives  a  more  extended 
application  than  could  be  given  by  any  person  of  less 
extensive  sympathies.  Mercy,  justice,  wisdom,  piety, 
love,  freedom,  in  their  full  beauty  and  grandeur,  are  the 
subjects  of  his  song ;  and  we  have  yet  to  learn,  that  these 


WORDSWORTH,  265 

can  subsist  with  the  slightest  injury  done  to  a  humac 
being.     Indeed,  he  professes  to  liave 

"  Sympathies 
Aloft  ascending,  and  descending  down, 
Even  to  inferior  kinds  ;  " 

and  to  teach  the  last  hyperbole  of  toleration,  that 

"  He  who  feels  contempt 
For  any  living  thing,  hath  faculties 
Which  he  has  never  used." 

That  Wordsworth  was  unsuccessful  in  commenting  on 
the  politics  of  the  hour,  and  blundered  often  in  applying 
his  ideal  standards  to  the  wrong  objects,  we  willingly 
admit;  but  we  think  this  is  an  objection  to  him  as  a 
practical  politician  and  philosopher,  and  not  an  objection 
to  him  as  a  poet,  "  submitting  the  shows  of  things  to  the 
desires  of  the  mind." 

To  estimate  the  degree  of  longevity  which  will  attach 
to  Wordsworth's  poetry  might  be  difficult;  but  as  he 
has  built  upon  the  enduring  rock  as  well  as  the  shifting 
sand,  we  cannot  tolerate  the  idea  that  he  will  be  swept 
away  with  things  forgotten.  As  we  pause  thoughtfully 
before  some  of  the  majestic  fabrics  of  his  genius,  they 
seem  to  wear  the  look  of  eternity.  And  when  we  con- 
sider the  vast  debt  of  delight  we  owe  to  him,  the  new 
inspiration  he  poured  into  poetry,  and  his  delivery  of  it 
from  the  bondage  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  years,  —  the 
many  teasing  persecutions  he  has  endured  for  humanity 
and  literature;  — when  we  think  of  the  consecrations  he 
has  shed  upon  our  present  existence,  and  the  splendor 
of  the 'vistas  he  has  opened  beyond  the  grave,  —  his  de- 
sire to  bring  the  harsli  domain  of  the  actual  into  closer 
vicinity  to  the  sunny  land  of  the  ideal,  —  his  kindling 


266  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

Strains  for  freedom  and  right,  —  his  warm  sympathy 
with  all  that  elevates  and  ennobles  our  being,  and  the 
sway  he  has  displayed  over  its  holiest  and  tenderest 
affections,  —  and  the  many  images  of  beauty  and  grace 
with  which  he  has  brightened  our  daily  life;  —  when 
we  consider  these,  his  faults  and  errors  seem  to  dwindle 
into  insignificance ;  reverence  and  love  leap  to  our  lips, 
and  warm  from  the  heart  and  brain  springs  our  benison, 

"  Blessings  be  on  him,  and  eternal  praise, 
Who  gave  us  nobler  loves  and  nobler  cares  ! " 


The  revolution  in  the  character  of  imaginative  litera- 
ture which  has  taken  place  in  the  present  century  had 
its  most  violent  and  convulsionary  manifestation  in  Lord 
Byron.  In  an  article  on  Wordsworth,  in  our  last  number, 
we  referred  to  some  of  the  external  influences  which  stim- 
ulated the  genius  of  the  great  poets  of  the  age,  and  laid 
particular  stress  on  spiritual  philosophy  and  the  French 
Revolution.  These  two  agencies,  of  course,  were  modi- 
fied by  the  individual  peculiarities  of  the  poets  they 
influenced.  Wordsworth,  in  whose  temperament  the 
thoughtful  element  predominated  over  the  impulsive, 
impressed  on  them  the  qualities  of  his  own  nature;  and 
their  effect  on  him  is  seen  in  the  preeminence  given  in 
his  writings  to  spiritual  things  and  to  humanity,  to  the 
imagination  and  the  affections.  On  Byron,  whose  mind 
was  naturally  more  under  the  dominion  of  sensibility, 
and  rendered  almost  chaotic  by  suffering  and  error,  the 
radical  influences  flowing  from  the  French  Revolution 
operated  with  more  power,  and  were  controlled  by  less 
moral  and  humane  feeling. 

Indeed,  if  any  person  can  be  pointed  out  as  the  mouth- 
piece of  the  harsher  revolutionary  spirit  of  his  time,  it  is 

*  The  Works  of  Lord  Byron  in  Verse  an<i  Prose,  including  hi?  Letters, 
Journals,  &c.,  with  a  Sketch  of  his  Lite  No*"  York:  A.  V.  Blake.  Sto. 
1343.  —  North  American  Review,  January,  ;i45 


268  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

assuredly  Lori  Byron.  The  extraordinary  popularity 
of  his  poems,  and  the  notoriety  of  his  life,  have  led  to 
various  essays  on  his  character  and  writings,  differing  in 
object  and  mode  of  treatment,  and  all  more  or  less  one- 
sided. Denunciation  and  panegyric  have  both  been 
lavished  upon  his  name.  Those  w^ho  represent  him  as 
a  fiend,  darting  with  a  sort  of  diabolical  instinct  on  all 
that  is  bad  and  impious,  and  overthrowing  with  a  kind 
of  diaoolical  energy  all  that  is  good  and  holy,  and  those 
who  represent  him  as  little  less  than  a  saint,  seem  equally 
to  err ;  and  the  error  of  both  arises  in  a  great  degree 
from  an  attempt  to  delineate  a  character  which  shall  be 
consistent  with  itself.  Byron  may  almost  be  said  to 
have  had  no  character  at  all.  Every  attempt  to  bring 
his  virtues  or  his  vices  within  the  boundaries  of  a  theory, 
or  to  represent  his  conduct  as  guided  by  any  predominant 
principle  of  good  or  evil,  has  been  accompanied  by  blun- 
ders and  perversions.  His  nature  had  no  simplicity. 
He  seems  an  embodied  antithesis,  —  a  mass  of  contra- 
dictions,—  a  collection  of  opposite  frailties  and  powers. 
Such  was  the  versatility  of  his  mind  and  morals,  that  it 
is  hardly  possible  to  discern  the  connection  between  the 
giddy  goodness  and  the  brilliant  wickedness  which  he 
delighted  to  exhibit.  His  habit  of  mystification,  of  darkly 
hinting  remorse  for  sins  he  never  committed,  of  avow- 
ing virtues  he  never  practised,  increases  the  difficulty. 
From  his  actions,  his  private  journals  and  correspond- 
ence, his  poems,  —  from  all  those  sources  whence  we 
derive  a  consistent  idea  of  other  writers,  —  it  is  hard  to 
obtain  a  harmonious  notion  of  him.  It  is  quite  easy  to 
sustain  any  theory  of  his  character,  good,  bad,  or  indif- 
ferent, by  numerous  extracts  from  his  writings  and  un- 
Aoubted  events  of  his  life.     Friends  or  enemies  need  not 


BYHON. 


269 


droop  for  lack  of  materials  to  justify  either  blame  or 
eulogy.  Nothing  can  be  more  simple  than  to  prove 
that  all  in  character  and  life  which  is  ennobling  and 
humane,  and  all  that  is  debasing  and  inhuman,  from 
writing  hymns  to  parodying  the  ten  commandments, 
found  in  him  an  able  champion ;  and  that  crime  and 
goodness  both  glittered  with  new  attractions,  when  seen 
through  the  dazzling  medium  of  his  diction.  From  hia 
life  and  works  we  obtain  the  impression  that  he  was  a 
glutton,  and  an  ascetic ;  a  spendthrift,  and  a  miser ;  a 
misanthrope,  and  a  cosmopolite ;  an  aristocrat,  and  a 
radical ;  an  infidel,  and  a  believer  ;  a  debauchee,  and  a 
mystic;  a  cynic,  and  a  sentimentalist;  afoul  libeller 
of  his  species,  and  an  eloquent  defender  of  its  rights, 
and  a  more  eloquent  mourner  over  its  wrongs  ;  bewail- 
ing and  denouncing  the  literary  revolution  which  made 
his  own  writings  popular;  pandering  to  a  public  which 
he  despised  ;  pilfering  from  authors  whom  he  ridiculed  ; 
lashing  his  own  bosom  sins  when  committed  by  others; 
in  short,  a  man  continually  busy  in  giving  the  lie  to  his 
thoughts,  opinions,  tastes,  and  conduct. 

When  we  reflect  upon  this  assemblage  of  clashing 
qualities,  these  odd  irregularities  of  opinion  and  action, 
we  are  prone  to  consider  him  what  somebody  calls  Vol- 
taire, "  a  miraculous  child."  He  appears  a  mere  collec- 
tion of  veering  fancies  and  impulses,  making  the  voyage 
of  life  aimless  and  rudderless,  blown  about  by  every 
breeze  of  desire,  tossed  about  on  every  wave  of  passion. 
We  can  find  in  him  no  fixed  principle  of  good  or  evil ; 
no  thorough-going  worship  of  god  or  devil.  Yet  this 
comfortable  conclusion  seems  only  to  lead  us  deeper  into 
the  dilemma.  Though  apparently  without  any  settled 
aim,  no  public  man  of  his  time  ouuld  display  a  stronger 


2X  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

will,  could  adhere  to  a  purpose  with  more  fixed  and  sul- 
len obstinacy,  could  act  out  or  write  out  with  more  power 
whatever  he  deemed  fit.  No  poet  ever  stamped  upon 
his  writings  a  deeper  impress  of  personality,  or  viewed 
outward  objects  in  a  manner  more  peculiar  to  himself. 
Everything  about  him  is  intensely  subjective,  individual, 
Byronic,  —  whether  writing  "  Childe  Harold"  or  "  Don 
Juan,"  —  whether  sipping  the  waters  of  Hippocrene,  or 
the  stronger  waters  of  Holland  and  the  Rhine. 

In  his  relation  with  the  public  we  perceive  the  same 
consistent  inconsistency.  He  does  not  appear  to  have 
/ormed  any  distinct  notions  of  the  dignity  or  the  import- 
Ance  of  the  poet's  vocation.  It  would  be  difficult  for  the 
/nost  acute  analyst  to  detect  in  his  writings  his  theory  of 
Auman  life.  Some  of  his  works  were  published  merely, 
AS  he  expresses  it,  to  "make  a  row."  Others  were 
/efiections  of  his  moods,  rather  than  his  opinions.  The 
volatile  libertinism  of  Lucio,  and  the  gloomy  fierceness 
of  Timon,  he  adopted  at  pleasure.  Self  is  ever  upper- 
most in  his  mind.  The  whole  world  is  called  upon  to 
listen  to  a  recital  of  the  joys  and  agonies  of  George 
Gordon,  Lord  Byron.  Amidst  this  most  bewildering 
confusion  of  qualities  and  attributes,  we  are  still  con- 
scious that  one  personality  circles  through  and  pervades 
them  all.  In  his  coquetry  with  the  public,  he  seems  at 
once  a  despot  and  a  slave.  He  tells  his  thousands  of 
readers  that  they  are  formed  of  more  vulgar  clay  than 
himself,  that  he  despises  them  from  his  inmost  heart, 
that  their  life  is  passed  in  a  bustling  oscillation  between 
knavery  and  folly,  and  that  all  mankind  is  but  a  "  de- 
graded mass  of  animated  dust."  Yet  he  demands  their 
sympathy  for  all  his  idiosyncrasies,  sins,  and  errors,  and 
bends  his  stern  pride  to  follow  whatever  path  of  popu- 


BYRON. 


271 


larity  changing  circumstances  may  point  out.  His  mouth 
is  ever  at  the  public  ear,  though  it  pour  forth  nothing 
but  contempt  and  hatred.  In  whatever  attitude  he 
places  himself,  he  evidently  intends  it  to  be  one  which 
shall  excite  admiration  or  horror.  He  could  bear  hatred, 
calumny,  the  imputation  of  profligacy,  the  denunciation 
of  the  powerful,  the  censures  of  the  good,  —  anything 
which  carried  with  it  fuel  for  his  sensibility;  but  he 
could  not  bear  neglect  or  indifference.  An  expression 
of  contempt  for  any  one  of  his  works  excited  his  ire 
more  than  the  most  hyperbolical  expression  of  horror. 
The  cool  cockney,  who  said  that  Don  Juan  was  "  all 
Billingsgate,"  was  lifted  immediately  into  importance  by 
the  remark. 

This  dependence  on  the  world,  even  on  the  weakest 
portion  of  it,  by  one  who  professed,  in  his  towering  mis- 
anthropy, to  be  superior  to  its  praise  or  blame,  is  in 
marked  contrast  with  the  self-reliance  of  Wordsworth 
and  Shelley.  It  was  one  of  Byron's  maxims,  that  the 
censure  of  the  meanest  of  mankind  is  more  painful 
than  the  applause  of  the  highest  is  pleasing.  This  was 
a  singular  opinion  to  be  held  by  one  who  strove  hard  to 
rank  himself  among  those  "  gigantic  minds"  » 

"  Whose  steep  aim 
Was,  Titan-like,  on  daring  doubts  to  pile 
Thoughts  which  should  call  down  thunder  and  the  flame 
Of  Heaven." 

The  unsettled  condition  of  Byron's  mind  and  character 
may  be  traced,  m  a  great  degree,  we  think  to  the  errors 
and  calamities  of  his  life.  His  misfortunes,  however, 
enabled  him  the  better  to  reflect  the  revolutionary  spirit 
of  his  time.     Suffering  was  his  inspiration,  and  he  gave 


272  Eu^a/s  and  reviews. 

utterance  to  the  thousand  and  one  miseries  of  his  day. 
The  poet  of  restlessness  and  impulse,  his  verse  found  an 
echo  in  many  a  heart  whose  unhappiness  was  voiceless. 
There  was  a  great  amount  of  passionate  radicalism  in 
the  community,  to  which  his  poetry  afforded  strength  and 
nutriment.  He  laid  bare  the  cant  of  English  society, 
and  the  corruption  of  the  aristocracy,  and  lashed  them 
with  a  whip  of  scorpions.  He  illustrated  and  denounced 
the  social  tyranny  by  which  thousands  are  driven  into 
crime,  and  prevented  from  returning  to  virtue.  The 
arrows  of  his  scorn  fell  fast  and  thick  among  the  defend- 
ers of  political  abuses.  The  renegade,  the  hypocrite,  the 
bigot,  were  made  to  feel  the  full  force  of  his  merciless 
invective.  Wielding  an  uncontrolled  dominion  over  lan- 
guage, and  profusely  gifted  with  all  the  weapons  of  sar- 
casm, hatred,  and  contempt,  he  battled  fiercely  in  the 
service  of  freedom,  and  knew  well  how  to  overwhelm  its 
adversaries  with  denunciations  and  stormy  threats,  with 
ridicule  and  irony  which  should  eat  into  their  hearts  as 
rust  into  iron.  He  spoke  with  fiery  energy  and  direct- 
ness what  was  burning  for  expression  in  the  hearts  of 
thousands.  The  aggressive  and  destructive  character  of 
kis  political  principles  had  a  fierce  charm  for  all  whose 
passions  had  been  wrought  into  intense  or  moody 
strength  by  the  contemplation  of  injustice  and  wrong. 
He  gave  voice  not  only  to  the  political  discontents  of  his 
time,  but  to  the  inward  misery,  the  sceptical  distrust  of 
goodness  and  religion,  the  diseased  sensibility,  the  half- 
formed  opinions  and  mad  impulses,  which  chaia.cterized 
the  excitable  spirits  of  his  age.  If  he  brought  no  balm 
to  heal,  he  brought  fire  to  stimulate.  He  was  com- 
pletely master  of  the  whole  rhetoric  of  despair  and 
desperation.     His  wilfulness  and  caprice,  the  in  "onsist- 


BYRON.  277 

ency  not  only  between  his  writings  and  liis  conduct,  hut 
between  one  portion  of  his  writings  and  another,  far  from 
injuring  liis  influence,  tended  rather  to  add  a  new  zest 
and  interest  to  his  compositions  and  actions.  A  man 
whose  conduct  is  swayed  by  impulse  instead  of  princi- 
ple, whose  passions  are  dogmatic,  while  his  intellect  is 
sceptical,  who  has  no  distinct  object  in  life  to  direct 
his  energies,  must  necessarily  exhibit  the  most  glaring 
contradictions  in  his  opinions  and  actions;  and  to  these 
contradictions  Lord  Byron's  sympathizing  readers  were 
as  liable  as  himself. 

It  is  a  diflicult  task  to  determine  how  far  the  faults 
and  errors  of  Byron  are  to  be  attributed  to  original  dis- 
position, to  bad  culture,  or  to  circumstances  over  which 
he  had  no  control.  He  seems  to  have  been  born  with 
violent  passions,  but  not  specially  gifted  with  intellectuaJ 
power.  The  carelessness  with  which  his  education  was 
conducted,  and  some  early  wounds  of  eanity  and  affec- 
tion, strengthened  this  natural  predominance  of  impulse 
over  thought.  We  can  see  in  his  youth  the  same  ten- 
dency to  individualism,  the  same  reference  of  all  things 
to  a  personal  standard,  which  characterized  his  manhood. 
Early  in  life,  he  was  accustomed  to  brood  over  the  mor- 
tifications of  his  vanity  and  pride,  and  to  indulge  in 
tempestuous  outbreaks  of  passion  when  he  was  crossed 
in  his  caprices.  He  gradually  came  to  consider  the 
world  as  made  for  him,  and  unconsciously  to  subordinate 
the  interests  and  happiness  of  others  to  his  own.  This 
selfishness  and  self-exaggeration  were  the  bane  of  his 
life.  He  seems  never  to  have  taken  an  enlarged  and 
comprehensive  view  of  society  and  the  world,  with  ref- 
erence to  his  own  position  in  either.  When  he  had 
committed  some  act  of  more  than  common  turpitude. 
18 


274  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

and  reaped  its  natural  results  in  sorrow  and  bitterness 
he  experienced  a  kind  of  grim  satisfaction  in  throwing 
the  blame  upon  others.  If  he  had  not  been  deformed  in 
his  foot,  or  if  Miss  Chaworth  had  not  loved  another,  or 
if  Lady  Byron  had  not  loved  herself,  the  thing  would 
not  have  happened.  This  tone  of  complaint  was  un- 
manly and  boyish.  It  was  more  a  revelation  of  the 
sufferer's  weakness  than  of  the  world's  injustice.  At  one 
time,  he  seems  to  have  seen  through  this  thin  self- 
deception,  and  acknowledged  that 

"  The  thorns  which  I  have  reaped  are  of  the  tree 
I  planted  ;  they  have  torn  me  and  I  bleed  ; 
I  should  have  known  what  fruit  would  spring  from  such  a  seed." 

But,  generally,  he  appears  to  have  been  deluded  by  his 
passionate  selfishness  into  the  belief  that  his  crimes  were 
his  misfortunes.  This  appears  exquisitely  ridiculous  in 
Mr.  Richard  Swiveller,  and  nothing  but  genius  could 
ever  have  made  it  anything  else  in  Byron. 

It  was  not  until  he  felt  the  reaction  of  the  selfishness 
and  the  opinions  of  others  upon  his  own,  that  he  revealed 
the  energies  of  his  nature.  He  certainly  would  never 
have  been  a  great  poet,  had  he  been  a  contented  man. 
The  attempt  to  crush  opposition,  to  compel  others  to 
acknowledge  the  claims  of  his  selfishness,  wrought  his 
powers  into  intense  action.  His  strength  was  the  strength 
of  madness  and  desperation.  The  first  volume  of  his 
poems  gives  no  evidence  of  the  power  afterwards  dis- 
j  layed  in  "  Cain  "  and  "  Manfred."  They  were  probably 
admired  by  his  friends,  previous  to  their  publication,  and 
his  vanity  was  satisfied.  Then  came  the  stinging  and 
contemptuous  critique  in  the  Edinburgh  Review.  The 
rage  which    this  provoked   was   the   inspiration   of  thp 


BYRON. 


itIB 


«•  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers."  It  is  amusing 
to  observe,  in  this  publication,  how  he  not  only  wreaku 
vengeance  on  his  reviewer,  and  on  all  connected  with 
him,  but  runs  a-muck  through  the  streets,  and  stabs 
every  author  that  comes  in  his  way.  His  wounded 
pride  demands  a  whole  hecatomb  of  victims,  the  innocent 
as  well  as  the  guilty.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  most 
superficial  consideration  must  have  taught  him  that 
many  of  the  feeble  poets  whom  he  lashed  had  only  com- 
mitted his  own  sin,  —  that  of  publishing  trifling  verses 
which  had  been  unduly  puffed  by  journals  of  little  au- 
thority ;  and  that  the  severity  of  his  attack  upon  them 
was  only  a  confirmation  of  the  justice  of  the  critique 
on  himself.  But  the  pith  and  nerve  of  his  invective 
indicated  that  his  mind  in  its  "  Hours  of  Idleness"  was 
a  very  diflferent  thing  from  his  mind  in  its  hours  of 
excitement.  The  success  which  his  vigorous  but  indis- 
criminate satire  met,  was  balm  to  his  irritated  pride ;  but 
it  pampered  some  qualities  of  his  nature  which  it  would 
have  been  for  his  happiness  to  have  stifled.  It  told  him 
that  he  possessed  power  to  fight  his  way  through  the 
world,  and  to  overbear  any  opposition  to  his  conduct, 
no  matter  on  what  principles  of  right  or  wrong  it  was 
founded. 

We  think  that  this  egotism  or  selfishness  in  BjTon 
was  the  parent  of  most  of  his  vices,  inasmuch  as  it 
emancipated  his  mind  from  the  burden  of  those  duties 
which  grow  out  of  man's  relations  with  society.  Feeling 
conscious  of  strong  impulses,  and  taking  pleasure  in 
asserting  his  independence  of  the  world's  code  of  opin- 
ion, he  early  plunged  into  vicious  excesses.  It  is  well 
known,  that  the  time  which  elapsed  between  the  publi- 
cation of  the  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers," 


276  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

and  his  first  visit  abroad,  was  not  spent  in  practising  the 
"Whole  Duty  of  Man."  The  recklessness  with  which 
he  indulged  in  libertinism  was  only  equalled  by  the  cool- 
ness with  which  he  referred  to  it.  In  a  letter  to  Hodg- 
son in  1810,  he  makes  the  candid  confession,  that  he 

has  found  "  that  nothing  but  virtue  will  do  in  this  d d 

world.  I  am  tolerably  sick  of  vice,  which  I  have  tried 
in  all  its  agreeable  varieties,  and  mean,  on  my  return,  to 
cut  all  my  dissolute  acquaintance,  and  leave  off  wine 
and  carnal  company,  and  betake  myself  to  politics  and 
decorum."  On  his  return  to  England,  he  changed  this 
amiable  determination,  so  far  as  decorum  was  concerned, 
though  he  paid  some  little  attention  to  politics.  The 
publication  of  the  first  and  second  cantos  of  "  Childe 
Harold,"  the  great  and  immediate  fame  which  attended 
it,  and  his  introduction  to  the  "  world  of  London,"  to  run 
a  new  career  of  brilliant  profligacy,  constitute  one  of 
the  eras  of  his  life.  Up  to  this  time,  his  bad  qualities 
do  not  appear  to  have  become  hardened,  and  though 
licentious  and  careless  of  restraint,  he  could  hardly  be 
called  extremely  dissolute.  The  power  of  his  genius, 
likewise,  had  not  been  fully  developed  by  circumstances. 
His  mind  was  also  very  unsettled,  and  might  perhaps 
have  received  a  much  better  direction  than  it  took.  In 
his  letters  and  journals  during  the  period  which  followed, 
we  see  him  in  a  variety  of  aspects,  —  sorrowful,  misan- 
thropic, proud,  vain,  "  everything  by  turns,  and  nothing 
long."  He  seemed  determined  to  drain  the  wine  of  life 
to  the  dregs,  and  to  excel  in  all  the  pleasant  methods  of 
disposing  of  health,  peace,  and  happiness,  which  a  great 
metropolis  affords.  There  is  a  singular  blending  of  flip- 
pancy and  desperation  in  his  letters  and  journals  at  this 
period.      The    profanity,  ribaldry,  and    brilliancy,  with 


BYRON.  277 

which  they  are  garnished,  the  striking  thoughts  and 
fancies  with  which  they  teem,  and  the  mode  of  life  and 
condition  of  mind  which  they  reveal,  can  hardly  be  par- 
alleled in  the  private  records  of  any  other  man  of  genius. 
His  ambition  was  both  high  and  mean,  and  seemed  bent 
on  those  objects  which  would  redound  to  his  shame,  as 
well  as  those  which  would  crown  him  with  glory.  He 
mingled  with  the  wise,  the  learned,  the  witty,  the  beau- 
tiful, the  dissolute,  with  equal  ease;  and  he  appeared 
determined  to  be  excelled  by  none,  either  in  literature  or 
licentiousness.  He  aimed  at  being  both  a  poet  and  a 
man  of  the  world, —  Plato  and  Lord  Rochester  in  one. 
The  impressibility  of  his  mind  led  him  to  adopt  the 
standard  of  each  company  into  which  he  was  thrown. 
He  gradually  lost  all  moral  fear.  Everything  sacred  in 
life,  religion,  affection,  sentiment,  duty,  virtue,  he  could 
as  easily  consider  matter  for  mirth  as  for  serious  medi- 
tation. His  love  of  epigram  overcame  his  moral  senti- 
ments and  his  poetic  feeling.  His  wit  was  great,  lor 
the  very  reason  that  it  had  no  restraint  from  his  con- 
science, and  invaded  sanctuaries  into  which  the  wit  of 
others  hesitated  to  enter.  Since  the  publication  of  his 
letters,  we  discover  that  his  wife,  his  most  intimate 
friends,  even  his  own  cherished  feelings,  were  not  safe 
from  its  shafts.  His  whole  correspondence  is  character- 
ized by  a  brilliant  recklessness,  in  which  profanity  and 
coarseness  are  prominent  elements.  His  letters  are 
richly  studded  with  those  emphatic  expletives  with 
which  wagoners  favor  their  horses. 

But  it  was  not  until  Byron  left  England  for  the  second 
time,  and  forever,  that  the  condition  of  mind  which  his 
irregularities  produced  was  fully  displayed  to  the  world. 
He  went  burniii'r  with  indiirnation  at  real  or  'majjined 


srs 


ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 


wrongs,  and  smarting  with  the  consequences  of  his 
errors.  From  this  period,  his  hatred  and  contempt  of 
the  world  deepened  in  intensity  and  power,  and  lent  a 
corresponding  strength  to  his  faculties.  His  residence 
on  the  continent  filled  the  measure  of  his  glory  and  his 
shame.  The  splendor,  fertility,  and  daring  of  his  mind, 
and  the  hoarded  scorn  and  fiery  passion  of  his  heart, 
were  allowed  to  have  full  and  free  expression.  His 
genius  "  fed  on  poisons,"  and  they  became  nutriment  to 
it.  There  was  the  same  inconsistency  in  his  conduct 
and  writings  as  before,  but  his  capacity  for  good  and 
evil  had  both  increased.  In  almost  everything  that  he 
wrote,  while  on  the  continent,  we  perceive  the  mark  of 
great  talent.  His  letters  from  Italy,  alone,  —  things 
thrown  off  in  every  variety  of  mood,  and  some  of  them 
bearing  strong  evidence  of  the  bottle,  —  display  more 
genius  than  can  be  found  in  all  the  first  two  cantos  of 
'  "  Childe  Harold."  His  mind,  restrained  by  no  permanent 
feelings  of  delicacy,  of  decorum,  of  moral  or  religious 
duty,  and  stirred  into  action  by  such  powerful  stimulants 
as  revenge  and  scorn,  developed  capacities  of  which  his 
previous  writings  had  given  little  evidence.  The  most 
sublime  and  beautiful,  as  well  as  the  most  debasing 
portions  of  his  writings,  belong  to  this  period  of  his  life. 
"  The  Corsair "  seems  tame,  when  compared  with 
"  Cain ;  "  and  the  misanthropy  of  "  Lara  "  appears  weak 
beside  the  misanthropy  of  "  Manfred."  The  vivid  imag- 
ination, which  glows  and  glitters  in  the  flood  of  passion- 
ate feeling  that  overwhelms  the  reader  in  the  fourth 
canto  of  "  Childe  Harold,"  had  absolutely  no  existence  in 
rne  "  Hours  of  Idleness."  And  nothing  that  he  had 
written  could  boast  the  variety  of  description,  the  wit, 
the  satire,  the  knowledge  of  the  world,  the  grace  and 


BYRON. 


219 


itffluenre  of  fancy,  the  sovereign  command  of  expression, 
which  surprise  and  delight  us  amid  the  filth  and  mockery 
of  "  Don  Juan." 

Over  all  these  works,  amid  the  most  brilliant  shows 
of  wit  and  imagination,  are  thrown  the  sable  hues  of 
misanthropy  and  despair.  They  are  all  held  in  the  bond- 
age of  one  frowning  and  bitter  feeling.  They  all  bear 
the  impress  of  one  versatile,  but  not  comprehensive, 
mind.  They  are  all  fruits  of  one  individual's  peculiar 
experience  of  life.  They  all  display  the  gulf  of  darkness 
and  despair  into  which  great  genius  is  hurried  when  it 
is  delivered  over  to  bad  passions.  The  lesson  they  teach 
is  degrading.  It  casts  doubt  and  insecurity  on  the 
noblest  objects  of  life.  It  is  the  philosophy  of  madness 
and  misery,  teaching  that  all  happiness  is .  shadowy,  all 
aspiration  futile. 

"  We  wither  from  our  youth,  we  gasp  away  — 
Sick  —  sick  ;  imloiiiKi  the  boon  —  unslaked  the  thirst, 
Thoiii^h  to  the  last,  in  verge  of  our  decay, 
Some  pliantom  lures,  such  as  we  sought  at  first  — 
But  all  loo  late,  — so  are  we  doubly  cursed. 
Love,  fame,  ambition,  avarice —  't  is  the  same, 
Eaciruile  — aiidall  ill  —  and  none  the  worst, 
For  all  are  meteors  with  a  diflercnt  name, 

And  Death  the  sable  smoke  where  vanishes  the  flame." 

Such  consolatory  philosophy  as  this  would  not  seem 
to  carry  with  it  any  charm,  derived  either  from  its  truth 
or  its  attractiveness.  Though  it  speaks  for  the  human 
race,  it  is  still  but  the  diseased  experience  of  one  heart, 
having  no  general  truth  either  in  the  nature  of  man  or 
the  nature  of  things.  It  is  no  more  philnsopliical  than  it 
would  be  for  a  thief,  on  his  way  to  the  gallows,  to  con- 
clude that  men  were  born  to  be  hanged,  —  or  foT  a  l)ad 


280  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

poet,  on  his  way  to  oblivion,  to  conclude  that  books  were 
written  to  be  damned.  Misanthropy  is  a  malady  of  the 
mind;  all  men  are  not  misanthropical,  any  more  than 
all  men  are  diseased.  In  itself,  this  condition  of  the  soul 
has  few  attractions,  except  for  those  who  can  sympathize 
with  it,  or  whose  own  experience  echoes  its  teachings. 
But  in  Byron  it  is  often  accompanied  by  qualities  which 
either  soften  its  harshness,  or  give  it  altogether  the  lie. 
It  is  most  seductive  when  blended  with  things  whose 
reality  it  denies.  The  gloom  of  his  meditations  is  laced 
with  light  in  all  directions.  Touches  of  pathos,  tributes 
of  affection,  gushes  of  passionate  feeling,  gleams  of 
beauty,  kindling  utterances  for  freedom  and  humanity, 
—  these  continually  appear  in  company  with  a  cynicism 
which  sneers  at  the  objects  to  which  they  appeal,  or 
despair  which  doubts  their  existence. 

We  now  propose  to  hazard  a  few  observations  on 
the  nature  of  Byron's  perversions  of  his  genius,  fol- 
lowed by  an  examination  of  the  spirit  which  animates 
"  Manfred  "  and  "  Cain,"  and  concluding  with  some 
acknowledgment  of  the  force  of  his  delineations,  and  the 
exquisite  delicacy  of  some  of  his  perceptions  of  beauty 
and  goodness.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  do  this  without  a 
seeming  inconsistency ;  for  a  distinction  is  to  be  made, 
not  only  between  his  life  and  his  writings,  but  between 
one  portion  of  his  writings  and  another.  We  must 
admit  that,  however  Satanic  some  of  his  compositions 
may  be,  and  however  depraved  the  tone  of  much  of  his 
meditation,  he  never  lost  a  keen  perception  of  the  pure 
and  the  beautiful ;  and  that,  in  action,  he  was  neither  so 
bad  nor  so  good  as  he  was  in  thought. 

lyron's  misanthropy,  real  or  affected,  sometimes  in- 
duced him  to  give  prominence  to  qualities  essentially 


BYRON.  281 

unpoetical.  The  frequent  perversion  of  his  powers,  and 
the  unhealthy  moral  atmosphere  which  surrounds  some 
of  his  most  splendid  creations,  have  given  point  to  a 
sarcastic  epigram,  which  declares  that  his  ethical  system 
is  compounded  of  misanthropy  and  licentiousness,  the 
first  command  of  which  is,  —  "  Hate  your  neighbor,  and 
love  your  neighbor's  wife."  Coarse  appetites,  selfish 
passions,  flippant  inquiries,  a  sullen  hatred  of  mankind, 
—  things  generally  deemed  base  and  degrading  in  them- 
selves,—  he  could  so  represent,  by  cunning  tricks  of 
diction,  as  to  confer  upon  them  a  factitious  beauty  and 
dignity.  '  Paint  not  the  sepulchre  of  thyself,  and  strive 
not  to  bf.dutify  thy  corruption,"  was  a  remark  of  an  old 
English  writer,  and  Byron  might  have  practised  on  it  to 
advantage.  If  we  analyze  some  of  the  beautiful  pas- 
sages in  "  Manfred  "  and  "  Childe  Harold,"  we  shall  find 
that  the  beauty  is  rather  in  appearance  than  in  sub- 
stance, in  the  outward  show  and  dress  of  the  sentiment 
rather  than  in  its  spirit,  in  words  more  than  in  ideas. 
Translated  into  plain  prose,  it  would  seem  either  horrible 
or  laughable.  In  this,  one  of  Byron's  many  character- 
istics, he  reverses  a  peculiarity  of  Wordsworth.  The 
latter  evolves  the  latent  beauty  residing  in  objects  which 
appear  mean  and  unpoetical  to  the  eye ;  Byron  casts  the 
drapery  of  the  beautiful  over  things  intrinsically  mean 
and  bad,  and  renders  them  poetical  to  the  eye.  Words- 
worth would  experience  the  same  satisfaction  in  deline- 
ating a  peasant  or  a  pedler,  which  Byron  would  find  in 
drawing  a  philosophical  debauchee  or  a  sentimental  pirate. 
The  former,  placing  a  confiding  trust  in  the  essential  dig- 
nity and  elevation  of  his  theme,  is  contented  with  sim- 
plicity of  diction  ;  the  latter,  feeling  the  unworthiness  of 
his  subject,  dazzles  and  blinds  the  eye  with  a  blaze  of 


JI82  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

words.  If  Wordsworth  is  inclined  to  make  poverty  and 
peasants  too  elevated,  Byron  is  disposed  to  make  piracy 
and  robbers  too  respectable.  Both  superadd  imaginary 
attributes  upon  the  realities  which  the  names  of  their 
characters  suggest;  but  one  aims  to  shed  beauty  over 
humble  virtue,  the  other  labors  to  make  vice  splendid. 

If  Byron,  in  his  bitter  and  reckless  moods,  took  pleas- 
ire  in  idealizing  the  bad,  he  received  no  less  in  degrad- 
ing the  ideal.  To  his  haughty  and  self-aggrandizing 
will,  it  seemed  that  the  force  of  his  genius  could  alter 
the  relations  and  distinctions  of  things,  and  make  both 
the  moral  and  natural  world  dependent  on  the  caprices 
of  his  sensibility.  His  readers  were  to  be  his  vassals,  and 
reflect  the  changes  of  his  own  feelings.  He  loved  power 
for  its  own  sake,  and  took  delight  in  its  mere  exercise. 
An  impulse  or  whim  he  would  obey,  as  other  men  obey 
a  law  or  a  principle.  And  then  he  seems,  at  times,  a 
mere  actor,  with  the  world  for  his  audience,  striving  to 
produce  brilliant  effects,  and  by  no  means  careless  of  the 
applause  of  the  pit.  "  Don  Juan,"  it  is  probable,  best 
reflects  his  mind  and  character  in  their  general  aspects. 
It  resembles  his  private  letters  and  journals  more  than 
any  of  his  other  works.  It  is  full  both  of  intensity  and 
recklessness.  Pictures  of  beauty  are  painted  with  hues 
"that  are  words,  and  speak  to  ye  of  htaven,"  only  to  be 
rudely  daubed  with  an  impatient  dash  of  the  same  pen- 
cil that  wrought  their  exceeding  loveliness;  majestic 
edifices  are  erected,  only  to  be  overthrown ;  statues,  full 
of  life  and  earnest  feeling,  are  created,  only  to  be  dashed 
petulantly  to  pieces. 

Indeed,  Byrou  experienced  great  delight  in  producing 
those  "  brisk  shocks  of  surprise"  which  come  from  the 
yoking  together  of  the  mean  and  the  exalted,  the  coarse 


BYRON. 

and  the  tender.  Some  of  these  do  little  credit  to  his 
heart,  and,  in  fact,  cast  "  ominous  conjecture "  on  the 
truthfulness  of  his  feelings.  Thus,  in  the  description  of 
Haidee  leaning  over  the  sleeping  Juan,  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  pictures  in  poetry  is  sacrificed  to  the  scofTing 
demon  of  his  wit :  — 

"  Like  to  an  angel,  o'er  the  dyings 
Who  die  in  righteousness,  she  leaned  ;  and  there 

All  tranquilly  the  shipwrecked  boy  was  lying, 
As  o'er  him  lay  the  calm  and  stirless  air. 

But  Zee  the  mean  time  some  eggs  was  frying; 
Since,  after  all,  no  doubt  the  youthful  pair 

Must  breakfast,  and  betimes,  —  lest  they  should  ask  it, 

She  drew  out  her  provision  from  the  basket." 

Again,  a  most  warm  and  fanciful  description  of  a  rain- 
bow closes  in  imagery  drawn  from  pugilism  :  —     _^ 

"  A  heavenly  chameleon, 

The  airy  child  of  vapor  and  the  sun. 
Brought  forth  in  purple,  cradled  in  vermilion, 

Baptized  in  molten  gold,  and  swathed  in  dun. 
Glittering  like  crescents  o'er  a  Turk's  pavilion. 

And  blending  every  color  into  one,  — 
Just  like  a  black  eye  in  a  recent  scuflle, 

(For  sometimes  we  must  box  without  the  muffle)." 

A  fine  poetic  consecration  of  one  of  the  holiest  feel- 
ings of  the  human  heart,  in  "  Childe  Harold,"  ends  with 
a  touch  of  misanthropy,  conceived  in  the  very  ingenuity 
of  despair :  — 

"  When  the  wife, 
Blest  into  mother,  in  the  innocent  look, 
Or  even  the  piping  cry  of  lips  that  brook 
No  pain  and  small  suspense,  a  joy  perceives 
Man  knows  not,  — tclicn  from  out  Us  cradled  nook 
She  sees  her  little  bud  put  forth  Us  leaves, 
What  may  tlie  fruit  be  yet?  —  I  know  not,  —  Cain  was  Ere'i. 


ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

A  great  deal  of  this  perversion  of  imagination  and  lev 
ity  of  feeling,  in  Byron,  we  are  willing  to  attribute  t( 
waywardness  or  affectation.  But  there  are  passages  ir 
his  works,  which  are  not  merely  licentious  in  tendency, 
but  openly  obscene.  The  higher  literature  of  the  pres- 
ent century  is,  in  general,  untainted  with  that  impurity 
of  thought  and  grossness  of  expression  which  have  too 
often  characterized  other  brilliant  periods  of  English  let- 
ters. Lord  Byron  has  the  questionable  honor  of  being 
an  exception  to  this  remark.  Some  portions  of  his 
works,  for  ribaldry  and  impiety,  fairly  bear  off  the  palm 
from  all  other  dabblers  in  dirt  and  blasphemy.  At  one 
period  of  his  life,  towards  its  close,  he  seems  to  have  felt 
no  responsibility  to  the  world  or  to  his  own  fame  in  the 
exercise  of  his  talents.  Much  of  this  recklessness  is, 
doubtless,  to  be  laid  to  the  intense  bitterness  of  many  of 
his  miseries.  In  these  moods,  however,  though  his  wit 
is  often  keen  and  his  fancy  affluent,  he  rarely  raises  a 
hearty  laugh.  The  unhappiness  which  prompts  the 
malignant  jest  is  seen  and  felt,  amid  all  the  vivacity  and 
glare  of  the  expression.  A  person  unacquainted  with 
the  character  of  Byron  would  infer,  from  these  bold  and 
bad  portions  of  his  poems  and  letters,  that  his  soul  was 
the  seat  of  obdurate  malice.  They  seem  to  illustrate 
what  Dr.  Johnson  calls  "  the  frigid  viliany  of  studious 
lewdness,  the  calm  malignity  of  labored  impiety."  They 
are  singularly  hard,  cold,  almost  inhuman,  in  their  tone 
of  wickedness.  They  have  none  of  that  soft  and  grace- 
ful voluptuousness  with  which  poets  usually  gild  and 
humanize  sensuality,  and  of  which  Byron  himself  was, 
when  he  pleased,  so  consummate  a  master.  To  denounce 
them  in  the  usual  language  applied  to  immoral  works, 
would  not  do  justice  to  the  depth  of  their  turpitude 


BYRON.  285 

They  enable  us  to  understand  what  the  old  scholastic 
ineant,  when  he  called  poetry  "  the  devil's  wine."  They 
carry  us  back  to  the  brilliant  depravities  of  Cong-reve  and 
Wycherly,  when  virtue  was  a  jest,  and  piety  the  mark 
of  a  despised  Puritan  ;  but  they  are  permeated  with  a 
power  to  which  those  rakes  of  the  drama  could  present 
no  claim.  To  judge  of  Byron,  however,  by  these  alone, 
or  to  build  up  a  theory  of  his  character  with  these  as  a 
basis,  would  be  to  do  him  injustice.  In  themselves,  they 
are  worthy  only  of  unalloyed  detestation  ;  but  they 
merely  illustrate  one  of  the  numerous  phases  of  the 
author's  nature.  They  are  the  foul  offspring  of  those 
moments  when  he  hated  himself,  the  world,  and  heaven ; 
when  all  the  bitterness  of  irreligion  and  misanthropy, 
and  all  the  noisome  vapors  arising  from  the  dregs  of  bad 
passions,  were  blended  in  a  frightful  union  with  wit  and 
imagination ;  the  reliction  from  those  modes,  when,  to 
use  his  own  words, 

"  His  mind  became, 
In  its  own  eddy,  boiling  and  o'erwrought, 
A  whirling  gulf  of  fantasy  and  flame." 

We  do  not  wish  to  dwell  on  these  foul  blots  on  Byron's 
fame,  or  to  penetrate  into  those  recesses  of  his  heart 
where  they  had  birth.  Misanthropy,  when  arrayed  in 
wit,  satire,  and  mockery,  is  a  more  pitiable  object  than 
misanthropy  in  the  darkest  hues  of  despair.  It  is  in 
"Cain,"  "Manfred,"  and  the  fourth  canto  of  "Childe 
Harold,"  —  especially  in  the  two  former,  —  that  we  are 
to  look  for  the  prominent  features  of  Byron's  peculiar 
view  of  life,  and  the  nature  of  his  influence  upon  his 
age.  This  leads  us  to  the  consideration  of  what  Southey 
stigmatized  as  the  "  Satanic  school  of  poetry,"  or  the 


286  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

poetry  of  sin.  In  the  works  to  which  we  have  referred, 
Byron  gives  us  the  heroism  of  wickedness  aud  misery, — 
guilt,  conscious  of  itself,  and  stung  with  remorse,  yet 
proud  of  its  power  of  endurance,  and  daring  and  defying 
heaven  and  hell,  in  the  full  view  of  the  consequences  of 
its  acts.  It  is  remorse  without  repentance,  —  misery 
that  seeks  neither  hope  nor  alleviation.  All  weak  emo- 
tions are  discarded  from  its  dark  catalogue  of  crime  and 
suffering.  It  deifies  self-will,  and  is  impatient  of  imper- 
fection, not  of  good,  but  of  evil.  The  bonds  of  clay,  that 
check  the  energies  of  the  mind,  it  feels  as  a  limitation 
and  a  curse.  It  plucks  its  illustrations  from  those 
aspects  of  nature  where  life  flourishes  in  desolation, 
and  is  triumphant  over  all  obstacles  to  its  growth  and 
strength. 

"  From  their  nature  will  the  tannen  grow 
Loftiest  on  loftiest  and  least  sheltered  rocks, 
Rooted  in  barrenness,  where  nought  below 
Of  soil  supports  them  'gainst  the  Alpine  shocks 
Of  eddying  storms  ;  yet  springs  the  trunk,  and  mock^ 
The  howling  tempest,  till  its  height  and  frame 
Are  worthy  of  the  mountains  from  whose  blocks 
Of  bleak,  gray  granite  into  life  it  came, 
And  grew  a  giant  tree  ;  —  the  mind  may  grow  the  same."    ** 

The  answer  of  this  misanthropy  to  all  entreaties  for 
repentance  is,  in  the  moody  phrase  of  Manfred,  —  "  It  is 
too  late."  It  can  exist  without  happiness.  Cain  asks 
Lucifer,  in  reference  to  the  rebel  angels,  — 

"Are  ye  happy? 
Lucifer.     We  are  mighty. 

Cain.     Are  ye  happy? 
Liicifer.     No !    Art  thou  ?  " 

But  if  happiness  be  not  needed,  neither  is  there  a  sting 
to  death,  though  the  soul  be  laden  with  tmrepented  sins. 


BYRON.  281 

The  last  words  that  Manfred  utters,  as  he  turns  hia 
glazing  eyes  to  the  man  of  God  by  his  side,  are  the  most 
awful  in  the  drama  :  — 

"  Old  man  !  'I  is  not  so  difficult  to  die." 

That  is,  hell  can  be  borne  ! 

Suffering,  in  natures  thus  lifted  from  the  mass,  and 
strong  in  the  heroism  of  despair,  needs  no  aid  from  piety 
and  human  feeling,  but  can  be  endured  unshrinkingly  by 
the  mind,  —  "  itself  an  equal  to  all  woes." 

"Elxistence  may  be  borne,  and  the  deep  root 
Of  life  and  sufferance  make  its  firm  abode 
In  bare  and  desolated  bosoms:  mute 
The  camel  labors  with  the  heaviest  load. 
And  the  wolf  dies  in  silence." 

Prometheus,  whose  "  impenetrable  spirit  earth  and 
neaven  could  not  convulse,"  is  the  ideal  of  this  patient 
endurance  of  torture  ;  for  Byron  was  not  ever  the  cham- 
pion of  noisy  miseries  and  talkative  despair,  but  could 
feel  the  power  of 

"Silent  suffering,  and  intense  ; 
The  rock,  the  vulture,  and  the  chain, 
All  that  the  proud  can  feel  of  pain, 
The  agony  ihey  do  not  show, 
The  suffocating  sense  of  woe, 

Which  speaks  but  in  its  loneliness, 
Ajid  then  is  jealous,  lest  the  sky 
Should  have  a  listener,  nor  will  sigh 

Until  its  voice  is  echoless." 

Hope  and  joy,  to  this  stem  misanthropy,  are  bubbles 
that  break  in  every  breath  of  experience.  No  one  can 
escape  the  inevitable  doom.  The  only  relief  is  to  be 
Bought  in  a  sullen  endurance  of  misery,  which  takes  »i 


288  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

grim  delight  in  the  consciousness  of  the  capacity  tc 
suffer ;  or  in  a  strength  of  will,  which  would  scale  the 
"  cherubim-defended  battlements  "  of  heaven,  and  quail 
not  before  the  "  fire-armed  angels,"  in  its  rhapsodies  of 
meditation.  Those  who,  when  once  deceived  by  hope, 
weave  again  the  old  web  of  delusion,  only  fall  deeper 
into  the  pit  of  wrretchedness  or  meanness  :  — 

"  Some,  bowed  and  bent, 
Wdx  gray  and  ghastly,  withering  ere  their  time, 
And  perish  with  the  reed  on  which  they  leant ; 
Some  seek  devotion,  toil,  war,  good,  or  crime. 
According  as  their  soul.s  were  formed  to  sink  or  climb." 

Life,  at  the  best,  is  an  evil.  Pain  and  suffering  track 
the  happiest.  Only  in  the  stern  defiance  or  enduranc'" 
of  evil  can  the  soul  find  any  stability. 

"Count  o'er  the  joj's  thine  hours  have  seen, 
Count  o'er  thy  days  from  anguish  free, 
And  know,  whatever  thou  hast  been, 
'Tis  something  better  not  to  be." 

It  is  almost  needless  to  say  that  Byron  never  reached 
the  point  of  indifference  to  misery  and  hatred  of  the 
world  which  he  loved  to  contemplate.  This  was  his 
ideal  of  greatness,  and  he  never  realized  it.  It  had  a 
charm  for  his  swift  passions  and  his  daring  fancy ;  but 
he  was  too  weak  and  veering  to  practise  it  consistently 
in  life.  He  was  no  hero,  either  in  the  service  of  Satan 
or  the  service  of  heaven.  But  he  had  a  large  inward 
experience  of  that  condition  of  the  heart  from  which  the 
devilish  in  conduct  flows ;  and  he  has  represented  it 
with  marvellous  force  and  skill.  In  "  Manfred,"  espec- 
ially, he  has  arrayed  the  Satanic  aspect  of  life  in 
a  gloomy  majesty,  which  makes   it  act  powerfully  on 


BYRON. 


289 


the  imagination.  A  kind  of  shuddering  sympathy  is 
awakened  forth  for  the  hero.  The  stormy  emotions  which 
convulse  his  being;  the  demoniacal  pride  with  which  his 
agonies  are  borne ;  the  intensity  and  might  of  passion, 
whicli  breathe  and  burn  in  almost  every  word  he  utters ; 
the  picturesque  sublimity  of  the  scenes  in  which  the 
action  of  the  piece  passes ;  the  occasional  touches  of 
cuiet  beauty  and  holy  sentiment,  which  shoot  across  the 
ri.vings  of  remorse,  or  twinkle  in  the  sombre  imagery  of 
despair ;  and  the  continuity  of  the  feeling  which  over- 
spreads and  pervades  the  whole  drama  ;  —  all  these  give 
to  the  work  a  singular  fascination,  from  which  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  escape.  Manfred  represents  a  man  of  super- 
human pride  and  superhuman  ambition,  — bound  by  no 
moral  laws,  which  yet  have  the  power  to  scourge  him, — 
hating  the  world  and  his  kind,  and  seemingly  fated  to  be 
a  curse  to  himself,  and  to  all  who  met  him  either  in  love 
or  hate.  In  his  confession  to  the  Witch  of  the  Alps,  we 
have  a  most  distinct  statement  of  that  disgust  for  man- 
kind, that  yearning  after  superhuman  knowledge,  that 
wild  search  in  the  loneliest  and  most  tempestuous  aspects 
of  nature  for  sympathy  with  inward  emotions,  with  which 
the  writings  of  Byron  teem.     He  says,  — 

"  From  my  youth  upward, 
My  spirit  walked  not  with  the  souls  of  men, 
Nor  looked  upon  the  earth  with  human  eyes  ; 
The  thirst  of  their  ambition  was  not  mine  ; 
The  aim  of  their  existence  was  not  mine  ; 
My  joys,  my  griefs,  my  passions,  and  my  powers, 
Made  me  a  stranger  ;  though  I  wore  the  form, 
I  had  no  sympathy  with  breathing:  flesh." 

In  another  connection,  he  represents  himself  as  having 
had  in  his  youth  noble  aspirations  to  sway  the  minds 
19 


290  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

of  men,  and  to  be  the  enlightenet  of  nations ;  but  his 
thoughts  "  mistook  themselves  :  "  — 

"  I  could  not  tame  my  nature  down  ;  for  he 
Must  serve  who  fain  would  sway,  — and  soothe  —  and  sue  — 
And  watch  all  time —  and  pry  into  all  place  — 
And  be  a  living  lie  — who  would  become 
A  mighty  thing  among  the  mean  ;  and  such 
The  mass  are.     I  disdained  to  mingle  with 
A  herd,  though  to  be  leader  —  and  of  wolves. 
The  lion  is  alone,  and  so  am  I." 

The  crime  which  lends  such  mysterious  horror  to  the 
remorse  and  despair  of  Manfred  is  one  which  the  pen 
hesitates  to  write.  It  is  but  obscurely  hinted  in  his  wild 
utterances.  But  its  remembrance  is  to  him  continual 
torment :  — 

"  Look  on  me  in  my  sleep, 
Or  watch  my  watchings.     Come  and  sil  by  me  ! 
My  solitude  is  solitude  no  more, 
But  peopled  with  the  Furies.     I  have  gnashed 
My  teeth  in  darkness  till  reluming  morn, 
Then  cursed  myself  till  sunset ; —  I  have  i)rayed 
For  madness  as  a  blessing  —  't  is  denied  me." 

In  the  description  of  her  whom  he  loved,  and  whom 
he  destroyed,  whose  heart  withered  when  it  gazed  on 
his,  —  a  passion  terrible  in  its  consequences  both  to 
him  and  to  her,  —  some  traits  of  his  own  character 
and  the  Satanic  character  are  thrown  in  as  a  contrast 
to  hers  :  — 

"  She  was  like  me  in  lineaments  —  her  eyes, 
Her  hair,  her  features,  all,  to  the  very  tone 
Even  of  her  voice,  they  said  were  like  to  mine  ; 
Bui  softened  all,  and  tempered  into  beauty  : 
She  had  the  same  lone  thoughts  and  wanderings, 
The  quest  of  hidden  knowledge,  and  a  mind 
To  comprehend  the  universe  ;  nor  these 


BYRON.  iJ91 

Alone,  but  with  tlirm  ^rntler  powers  than  mine, 
Pity,  and  smiles,  and  tears — \chich  I  had  not; 
And  ifii'lLTiiL'ss  —  hut  tliat  I  had  for  her  ; 
Humility  —  and  that  I  never  had. 
Her  I'aulls  were  mine —  her  virtues  were  her  own." 

We  cannot  refrain  from  making  one  more  extract  from 
this  drama,  in  illustration  of  the  inspiration  of  evil  from 
which  it  takes  its  character,  and  the  theory  of  sorrow 
and  misery,  as  well  as  grandeur,  which  it  inculcates. 

"  There  is  an  order 
Of  mortals  on  the  earth,  who  do  become 
Old  in  their  youth,  and  die  ere  middle  age. 
Without  the  violence  of  warlike  death. 
Some  perishing  of  pleasure  —  some  of  study  — 
Some  worn  with  toil  —  some  of  mere  weariness  — 
Some  of  disease  —  some  of  insanity  — 
And  some  of  withered  or  of  broken  hearts  ; 
For  this  last  is  a  malady  which  slays 
More  than  are  nund)ercd  in  the  lists  of  Fate, — 
Taking  all  shapes  and  bearing  many  names." 

There  is  something  noble  in  the  roll  of  these  lines, 
which  dignifies  the  pride  and  bitterness  of  soul  from 
which  they  proceed. 

The  tremendous  depth  and  intensity  of  passion,  which 
Byron  was  capable  of  representing  with  such  marvellous 
skill  of  expression,  is  powerfully  displayed  in  his  misan- 
thropical creations,  and  lends  to  them  much  of  the  sor- 
cery thev  exercise  on  the  feelings.  When  once  we  are 
fairly  borne  along  the  foaming  and  glittering  tide  of  his 
impulsive  genius,  it  becomes  hard  to  muster  any  moral 
scruples  as  to  the  direction  of  the  flood.  Few  poets 
excel  him  in  the  instantaneous  sympathy  he  creates, 
even  among  minds  having  no  natural  affinity  with  his 
own.     He  is  eminently  the  poet  of  passion.     In  almost 


292  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

all  the  changas  of  his  mood,  the  same  energy  of  feeling 
glows  in  his  verse.  The  thought  or  emotion  uppermost 
in  his  mind  at  any  one  time,  whether  it  be  bad  or  good, 
seems  to  sway,  for  the  moment,  all  the  faculties  of  his 
nature  He  has  a  passionate  love  for  evil,  a  passionate 
love  for  nature,  for  goodness,  for  beauty,  and,  we  may 
add,  a  passionate  love  for  himself.  When  he  sits  in  the 
place  of  the  scoffer,  his  words  betray  the  same  inspira- 
tion from  impulse, — the  same  passion,  though  con- 
densed into  bitterness  and  mockery.  If  we  carefully 
observe  the  thoughtful  and  tender  portions  of  his  writ- 
ings, we  shall  often  find  that  the  tenderness  is  but 

"  Moonlight  on  a  troubled  sea, 
Brightening  the  storm  it  cannot  calm." 

Restlessness  is  the  characteristic  of  his  nature.  He 
himself  speaks  of  his  verse  as  bearing  him  onward  as 
the  wind  bears  the  cloud ;  and  his  hatred  of  restraint 
and  "  proud  precipitance  of  soul "  are  well  expressed  in 
his  exulting  gladness  at  being  again  on  the  boisterous 
element  he  loved  :  — 

"  Once  more  upon  the  waters  !  — yet,  once  more  ! 
And  the  waves  hound  l>eneath  me  as  a  steed 
That  knows  its  rider.     Welcome  to  their  roar  ! 
Swift  he  their  guidance,  wheresoe'er  it  lead  ! 
Though  the  strained  mast  should  quiver  as  a  reed, 
And  the  rent  canvas  fluttering  strew  the  gale, 
Yet  must  I  on  ;  for  I  am  as  a  weed 
Flung  from  the  rock,  on  ocean's  foam,  to  sail 

Where'er  the  surge  may  sweep,  the  tempest's  breath  jievail." 

The  force  of  passion  with  which  he  could  express  his 
sense  of  individual  wrong,  and  his  power  of  carrj'ing 
the  heart  with  him  in  his  sorrowful  consecrations  of  his 


BYBON.  298 

«wii  miseries,  are  displayed  with  a  wild  and  smiting 
eoergy  of  utterance  in  the  following  stanzas  :  — 

•'And  if  my  voice  hreuk  forth,  't  is  not  that  now 
I  slirink  from  what  is  suffered  :  let  him  speak 
Who  hath  beheld  decline  ui)0ii  my  brow, 
Or  seen  my  mind's  convulsion  leave  it  weak  ; 
But  in  this  page  a  record  will  I  seek. 
Not  ill  the  air  shall  these  my  words  disperse, 
Though  I  be  ashes  ;  a  far  hour  shall  wreak 
The  deep  prophetic  fuhiess  of  this  verse. 

And  pile  on  ht  nan  heads  the  mountain  of  my  curse  1 

"That  curse  shall  be  Forgiveness.     Have  I  not  — 
Hear  me,  my  mother  Earth !  behold  it.  Heaven  !  — 
Have  I  not  had  to  wrestle  with  my  lot  ? 
Have  I  not  suffered  things  to  be  forgiven? 
Have  I  not  had  my  brain  seared,  my  heart  riven, 
Hopes  sapped,  name  blighted.  Life's  life  lied  away  1 
And  only  not  to  desperation  driven, 
Because  not  altogether  of  such  clay 
As  rots  into  the  souls  of  those  whom  I  survey  ? 

"  From  mighty  wrongs  to  petty  perfidy, 
Have  I  not  seen  what  human  things  could  do? 
From  the  loud  roar  of  foaming  calumny 
To  the  small  whisper  of  the  as  paltry  few. 
And  subtler  venom  of  the  reptile  crew. 
The  Janus  glance  of  wiiose  significant  eye. 
Learning  to  lie  with  silence,  would  seem  true. 
And  without  utterance,  save  the  shrug  or  sigh, 
Deal  round  to  happy  fools  its  speechless  obloquy. 

"  But  I  have  lived,  and  have  not  lived  in  vain : 
My  mind  may  lose  its  force,  my  blood  its  fire, 
And  my  frame  perish  even  in  conquering  pain ; 
But  there  is  that  within  me  which  shall  tire 
Torture  and  Time,  and  breathe  when  I  expire  ; 
Something  unearthly,  which  they  deem  not  o^ 
Like  the  rememliered  lone  of  a  mute  lyre. 
Shall  on  their  softened  spirits  sink,  and  move 

In  hearts  all  rocky  now  the  late  reu'orse  of  love." 


294  ESSAYS   AND   KEVIEWS. 

This  passionateness  of  Byron's  nature  is,  as  wc  have 
already  observed,  manifested  in  all  his  writings.  But  it 
is  sometimes  softened  into  delicacy  and  tenderness,  and 
becomes  remarkably  pure  and  sweet  in  its  flow.  The 
passages  of  thoughtful  beauty  which  are  scattered  over 
his  stormy  and  impulsive  poems,  —  following,  as  they  so 
often  do,  fierce  bursts  of  passion,  and  the  bad  idolatry  of 
hatred  and  despair,  —  are  as  pleasing  to  the  eye  as  star- 
light after  lightning.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  enlarge 
on  the  fineness  of  his  feeling  for  the  beautiful,  and  the 
fertility  of  his  imagination  in  images  shaping  it  to  the 
eye,  and  in  tones  suggesting  it  to  the  ear.  A  large 
number  of  his  imaginations  have  become  the  language 
of  the  emotions  they  consecrate,  and  many  are  fast  pass- 
ing into  the  common  speech  of  Englishmen.  In  the 
third  and  fourth  cantos  of  "  Childe  Harold,"  in  "  Don 
Juan,"  in  the  narratives  and  meditations  which  he  has 
cast  in  a  dramatic  form,  passages  might  be  selected  of 
most  witching  loveliness,  of  deep  pathos,  of  sad  and 
mournful  beauty  of  sentiment,  of  aspiration  after  truth 
and  goodness,  —  of  pity,  and  charity,  and  faith,  and 
humanity,  and  love.  These  display  "  how  hard  it  is  for 
a  noble  spirit  to  divorce  itself  wholly  from  what  is  good." 
From  among  many  illustrations  of  this  softness  and 
beauty  of  feeling,  we  select  the  following  sonnet : — 

"  Thy  cheek  is  pale  with  thought,  but  not  from  woe  ; 
And  yet  so  lovely,  that,  if  Mirth  could  flush 
Its  rose  of  whiteness  with  the  brightest  blush, 

My  heart  would  wish  away  that  ruder  glow  : 

And  dazzle  not  thy  deep-blue  eyes  —  but,  oh, 
While  gazing  on  them,  sterner  eyes  will  gush. 
And  into  mine  my  mother's  weakness  rush, 

Soft  as  the  last  drops  round  heaven's  airy  bow. 

For,  through  Ihy  long  dark  lashes  low  depeuiiag, 


BYRON.  295 

The  soul  of  melancholy  Gentleness 
Gleams  like  a  seraph  from  the  sky  descending, 

Above  all  pain,  yet  pitying  all  distress  ; 
At  once  such  majesty  with  sweetness  blending, 

I  worship  more,  but  cannot  love  thee  less." 

It  is  very  difficult  to  connect  the  scattered  character- 
istics of  Byron's  genius,  so  as  to  give  a  distinct  notion  of 
his  personal  character.  Most  certainly  he  was  not  a 
great  man  in  action.  He  had  no  calm,  self-sustaining 
energy  of  nature,  few  consistent  opinions,  little  breadth 
of  understanding.  Irresolution,  weakness,  a  reckless 
indifference  to  the  consequences  of  his  actions,  a  kind  of 
settled  feeling  that  he  must  yield  to  every  impulse  of  his 
sensibility,  a  remarkable  absence  of  anything  like  a 
reference  of  his  conduct  to  moral  laws, —  these  abso- 
lutely stare  us  in  the  face,  as  we  read  his  letters  and 
journals.  As  regards  reason,  his  whole  strength  lay  in 
his  insight ;  and  his  momentary  glimpses  of  truth  were 
sometimes  peculiarly  vivid  and  clear.  In  his  specula- 
tions, or  rather  declarations,  on  subjects  disconnected  with 
poetry,  we  often  discern  many  bright  hints  of  truth  ; 
but  he  had  not  sufficient  patience  or  comprehensiveness 
to  follow  them  to  their  results,  or  to  bind  them  together 
in  logical  order.  As  regards  strength  of  character,  his 
force  consisted  in  passion,  not  in  principle.  JNo  vicious 
man  ever  lashed  vice  in  others  with  more  power.  Not 
an  inconsiderable  portion  of  his  writings,  both  in  prose 
and  vcise,  represents  him  as  the  critic  of  his  contem- 
poraries, and  the  censor  and  satirist  of  his  age.  When 
we  read  some  of  his  fierce  attacks  on  George  the  Fourth 

"  The  fourth  of  the  fools  and  cowards,  called  George," 

and  his  bitter  invectives  on  the  scandalous  sins  of  othei 
prominent  culprits,  we  are  ready  to  exclaim,  with  Sil 


SSS  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEAVS. 

Thomas  Browne,  "  While  thou  so  hotly  disclaimest 
against  the  Devil,  be  not  guilty  of  diabolism."  Again, 
no  man  volunteered  his  opinions  with  more  freedom  on 
literature,  theology,  politics,  and  society;  but  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  make  any  discrimination  between  his  opinions 
and  his  antipathies,  or  to  discover  any  law  of  change 
which  regulated  the  passage  of  his  antipathies  into  his 
loves.  His  taste  was  capricious  in  the  extreme.  His 
opinion  of  any  person,  or  any  institution,  or  any  aspira- 
tion, varied  with  the  physical  variations  of  his  body,  and 
was  very  different  after  a  debauch  from  what  it  was  after 
a  ride.  No  one  could  infer  his  judgment  of  to-morrow 
from  his  judgment  of  to-day.  The  friend  that  appeared 
in  the  eulogy  of  one  week  was  likely  to  point  the  squib 
of  the  next.  His  consistency  in  criticism  was  according 
to  his  constancy  in  hatred.  Wordsworth  and  Southey  he 
always  disliked  and  always  abused.  As  a  critic,  he  has 
propounded  some  of  the  most  untenable  positions  ever 
uttered  by  a  man  of  genius.  He  often  mistook  his 
whims  and  antipathies  for  laws  of  taste.  When  Keats's 
poems  appeared,  he  entreats  Murray  to  get  some  one  to 
crush  the  little  mannikin  to  pieces.  After  the  article  in 
the  Quarterly  was  published,  and  the  death  of  Keats  was 
supposed  to  have  been  accelerated  by  its  brutality,  he 
abuses  Murray  for  killing  him,  and  discovers  that  there 
was  much  merit  in  the  "  mannikin's  "  poetry.  It  would 
be  easy  to  multiply  examples  of  this  instability  and 
levity  of  character ;  but  for  any  reader  of  his  letters  and 
journals,  such  instances  would  be  needless. 

The  personal  and  poetical  popularity  of  Byron  is  still 
great.  The  circulation  of  his  works,  even  at  the  present 
time,  exceeds  that  of  Wordsworth,  Shelley,  Southey,  and 
Coleridge,  united.     Scott  is  the  only  poet,  among  his 


BYRON. 


297 


contemporaries,  who  at  all  rivals  him  in  the  number  of 
his  readers.  Many  of  his  gloomy  creations  will  long 
frown  defiance  upon  time.  It  is  certainly  a  calamity  to 
the  world,  that  a  poet  possessing  such  wide  inflvience 
over  the  heart  should  too  often  have  exercised  it  in  culti- 
vating and  honoring  the  heart's  base  and  moody  pas- 
sions ;  should  have  robed  sin  in  beauty,  and  conferred 
dignity  on  vice  ;  should  have  given  new  allurements  to 
that  Dead-sea  fruit, 

"  Which  tempts  the  eye, 
But  turns  to  ashes  on  the  lip  ;  " 

should  have  shown  such  brilliant  audacity  in  assaults  on 
the  dearest  interests  of  society ;  and,  by  the  force  of  his 
example,  and  the  splendor  of  his  mind,  should  be  able  to 
perpetuate  his  errors  and  his  vices  through  many  genera- 
tions to  come.  It  is  of  importance,  not  only  to  morals, 
but  to  taste,  that  there  should  be  no  delusion  as  to  the 
nature  of  these  perversions  of  his  genius  ;  that  his  wit 
should  not  shield  his  ribaldry  from  condemnation,  nor  his 
imagination  be  received  in  extenuation  of  his  blasphemy. 
In  speaking  of  Byron,  as  in  speaking  of  men  of  meaner 
minds,  things  should  be  called  by  their  right  names. 
The  method  too  apt  to  be  pursued  towards  him  is  to 
gloss  over  his  faults  with  some  smooth  sentimentalities 
about  his  temptations  ;  or  to  speak  of  them  with  a  singu- 
lar relaxation  of  the  rigidity  of  moral  laws.  But  it 
seems  to  us  impossible  to  defend  his  character,  even  as 
we  defend  the  character  of  many  men  of  genius  whose 
lives  labor  under  some  bad  imputations.  As  soon  as 
sophistry  has  dcxtrously  disposed  of  one  charge,  a  thou- 
sand others  crowd  up  to  be  answered.  He  has  written 
his  own  condemnation.     The  faults  of  his  life  blaze  out 


298  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

in  his  verse,  and  glitter  on  almost  every  page  of  his 
correspondence.  And  the  most  that  charity  itself  can  do 
is  to  repeat  the  mournful  regret  of  the  good  abbot  over 
the  siis  of  Manfred  :  — 

"  This  should  have  been  a  noble  creature  :  he 
Hath  all  the  energy  which  would  have  made 
A  goodly  frame  of  glorious  elements, 
Had  they  been  wisely  mingled  ;  as  it  is, 
It  is  an  awful  chaos  —  liglit  and  darkness  — 
And  mind  and  dust  —  and  passions  and  pure  thoughts, 
Mixed,  and  contending,  without  end  or  order, 
All  dormant  or  destructive." 


ENGLISH  POETS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH 
CENTURY.* 

The  consideration  of  the  "  Poets  and  Poetry  of  the 
Nineteenth  Century  "  involves  more  than  a  mere  criti- 
cism of  individual  authors.  No  one  can  pay  much 
attention  to  the  theme,  without  being  led  into  inquiries 
concerning  the  nature  and  province  of  poetry,  and  the 
verbal  difficulties  which  perplex  the  subject  of  literary 
ethics.  A  few  observations  on  some  of  the  sophisms 
which  make  poetry  synonymous  with  falsehood,  and 
virtue  with  propriety,  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  our 
readers. 

The  common  objection  to  poetry  lies  in  the  word 
"  unreal."  In  most  minds,  real  life  is  confounded  with 
actual  life.  The  ideal  or  the  imaginary  is  deemed  to 
be,  at  the  best,  but  a  beautiful  illusion.  Reality  is 
affirmed  chiefly  of  those  objects  directly  cognizable  by 
the  senses  and  the  understanding.  Now,  it  seems  to  us, 
that  the  mere  fact  that  most  minds  perceive  a  higher 
existence  than  the  life  they  actually  lead,  a  life  more  in 
harmony  unth  moral  and  natural  laws,  is  an  evidence 
that  actual  life  is  a  most  imperfect  embodiment  of  real 
life.     The  diflTerence  between  duty  and  conduct,  law  and 

*  The  Poets  and  Poelry  of  England  in  the  Nineteenth  Century.  By  Rufua 
W.  GrisNvold.  Philadelphia:  Carey  &  Harl.  1  vol.  8vo.  Second  editiiju. — 
i.merican  Review,  July,  1S45. 


300  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

its  observance,  nature  and  convention,  about  measures 
the  difference  between  the  real  and  the  actual.  No 
sophism  can  be  more  monstrous  than  that  which  repre- 
sents actual  life  as  sufficient  for  the  wants  and  capacities 
of  liuman  nature.  In  all  the  great  exigencies  of  exist- 
ence, the  actual  glides  away  under  our  very  feet,  and  the 
soul  falls  back  instinctively  upon  what  is  real  and  per- 
manent. The  code  of  practical  atheism,  which  con- 
demns poetry  as  fantastical,  strikes  at  the  very  root  of 
morals  and  religion ;  and  those  prudent  worldlings  who 
adopt  it  must  have  a  very  dim  insight  into  the  ethical 
significance  of  those  words  which  represent  the  world  as 
*'  living  in  a  vain  show."  Now,  poetry  is  the  protest  of 
genius  against  the  unreality  of  actual  life.  It  convicts 
convention  of  being  false  to  the  nature  of  things  ;  and  it 
does  so  by  perceiving  what  is  real  and  permanent  in  man 
and  the  universe.  It  actualizes  real  life  to  the  imagin- 
ation, in  forms  of  grandeur  and  beauty  corresponding  to 
the  essential  truth  of  things.  Literature  is  the  record  of 
man's  attempt  to  make  actual  to  thought  a  life  approach- 
ing nearer  to  reality  than  the  boasted  actual  life  of  the 
world.  If  the  term  ideal  means  something  opposed  to 
truth,  then  it  should  be  abandoned  to  all  the  scorn  and 
contempt  Which  falsehood  deserves.  But  the  falsehood 
of  life  is  not  in  idea  so  much  as  in  practice ;  and  the  sin 
of  the  ideal  consists,  not  in  being  itself  a  lie,  but  in  giv- 
ing the  lie  to  commonplace.  If  the  phrase,  realizing  the 
ideal,  were  translated  into  the  phrase,  actualizing  the 
real,  much  ambiguity  might  be  avoided.  The  inspiration 
of  all  the  hatred  lavished  on  poetry,  by  the  narrow- 
minded  and  selfish,  is  the  feeling  that  poetry  cojivicts 
them  of  folly,  falsehood,  and  meanness. 

Poetry,  then,    is,   most   emphatically,  a  "substantial 


ENGLISH  POETS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.         301 

world,"  Who  shall  estimate  what  vast  stores  of  happi- 
ness and  improvement  the  domain  of  imagination  has 
revealed  to  us  ?  There  we  see  the  might  and  the 
majesty,  the  beauty  and  the  grace,  the  tenderness  and 
the  meekness,  of  humanity,  in  their  real  forms.  Let  us 
think,  for  one  moment,  of  the  new  world  of  beings 
which  genius  has  created,  and  which  poetry  makes  the 
denizens  of  all  earnest  hearts.  Who  shall  say  that  he 
is  without  companions,  to  whose  soul  the  marvellous 
beings  of  the  poet's  heart  and  fancy  are  constant  visit- 
ants ?  In  that  wide  variety  of  individual  characters, 
whom  genius  has  framed  out  of  the  finest  and  greatest 
elements  of  human  ijature,  do  we  not  find  companions  as 
genial,  friends  as  true,  as  those  whose  faces  we  see,  and 
whose  hands  we  clasp  ?  Are  they  not  the  brethren  of  our 
minds  and  hearts  —  seen  by  the  soul,  if  not  by  the  eye  ? 
Do  they  not  shed  the'hues  of  romance,  and  inspire  the 
thoughts  of  power,  amid  the  most  toilsome  drudgery  of 
existence  ?  Faces  may  glad  the  eye  of  the  artisan,  in 
his  unremitting  labor,  as  warm,  as  kindling,  and  as 
beautiful,  as  ever  beamed  in  palaces,  or  shed  lustre  on 
courts.  The  aristocracy  of  convention  may  think  him 
too  mean  for  notice,  yet  the  song  of  Miriam  may  mingle 
with  the  clink  of  his  hammer,  and  the  sweetest  embodi- 
ments of  beauty  and  grace  which  the  cunning  of  genius 
has  shaped  may  cluster  around  him  in  familiar  inter 
course !  Who  shall  measure  the  happiness  of  the  boy, 
when  he  is  first  introduced  to  the  realities  of  Robinson 
Crusoe,  and  pores  with  trembling  delight  over  the  dear, 
dog-eared  leaves  ?  In  reading  works  of  imagination, 
worthy  of  tlie  name,  we  do  not  treat  them  as  fictions. 
The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  we  love  as  a  real  being.  Fal- 
staff,  with  his  rosy  face  and  nimble  wit,  \i\  a  companion 


302  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

who  n^flects  our  whole  joyousness  of  mood.  We  are 
tbith  the  fifth  Henry  in  the  trenches  of  Harfleur ;  with 
Balfour  of  Burley  in  his  rock-ribbed  prison ;  with  Kob 
Hoy  on  his  native  heather.  We  stand  on  the  parapet 
with  the  Jewess,  and  echo  her  defiance  to  the  Knight 
Templar ;  we  eagerly  follow  every  step  of  Jeannie  Deans, 
in  that  toilsome  and  dangerous  journey  to  London,  which 
has  given  to  her  name  the  immortality  of  the  affections. 
We  muse  and  moralize  with  Jacques ;  we  play  pranks 
with  the  delicate  Ariel ;  we  break  a  lance  with  the  stout 
Sir  Tristam ;  we  smite,  with  the  first  Richard,  the 
"  Paynim  foe  in  Palestine."  Touchstone  has  always  a 
sharp  jest  in  his  very  look  to  make  our  risibles  tingle 
with  delight.  Faulconbridge  has  ever  at  hand  a  phrase 
of  scorn,  which  we  can  pitch  at  cowardice  and  hypocrisy ; 
Macbeth  has  ever  a  solemn  truth  to  thrill  our  souls  with 
awe.  We  have  friends  for  every  mood,  comforters  for 
every  sorrow ;  a  glorious  company  of  immortals,  scatter- 
ing their  sweet  influences  on  the  worn  and  beaten  paths 
of  our  daily  life.  Shapes  "  that  haunt  thought's  wilder- 
nesses" are  around  us  in  toil,  and  suffering,  and  joy ; 
mitigating  labor,  soothing  care,  giving  a  keener  relish  to 
delight ;  touching  the  heroic  string  in  our  nature  with  a 
noble  sentiment ;  kindling  our  hearts,  lifting  our  imag- 
inations, and  hovering  alike  over  the  couch  of  health  and 
the  sick  pillow,  to  bless  and  cheer,  and  animate  and 
console  ! 

The  world  of  beings  we  have  been  considering,  we 
deem  a  real  world.  Poetry  is  that  sublime  discontent 
with  the  imperfection  of  actual  life,  arising  from  the 
vision  of  something  better  and  nobler,  of  which  actual 
life  is  still  speculatively  capable.  This  discontent  is 
the  source  of  the  poetical,  whether  displayed  in  actioo 


ENGUSH  POETS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.      303 

#r  thought.  It  is  the  inspiration  of  reform.  Poets  havo 
thus  been  finely  called  the  "  unacknowledged  legislators 
of  the  world  ; "  for  the  passionate  or  persuasive  utterance 
of  great  thoughts  brings  them  home  to  the  affections  ; 
and,  embodied  in  shapes  of  beauty,  they  imperceptibly 
mould  the  minds  by  whom  they  are  perceived.  The 
ideal  of  yesterday  becomes  the  fact  of  to-day.  True 
progress  consists  in  a  continual  actualization  of  realities. 
Poetry,  in  its  theoretical  aspect,  refers  to  truth,  and  to 
truth  alone.  But  poets^  living  in  actual  life,  must,  to 
some  extent,  partake  of  its  imperfections.  Their  percep- 
tions of  the  real  must  be  affected  by  the  influences  of 
tlieir  time,  and  by  individual  passions  and  prejudices. 
"  The  gift  of  genuine  insight "  is  possessed  by  none  in 
perfection,  and  to  none  is  the  whole  domain  of  reality 
open.  Thus  we  do  not  call  Shakspeare  a  universal  poet, 
but  the  7nost  universal  of  all  poets.  Poetry,  in  the  fomi 
in  which  it  appears  in  literature,  may  be  practically 
defined,  as  a  record,  left  by  the  greatest  natures  of  any 
age,  of  their  aspirations  after  a  truth  and  reality  above 
their  age.  It  represents,  to  some  extent,  the  "motion 
toiling  in  the  gloom  "  — 

"  The  spirit  of  the  years  to  come, 
Yearning  to  mix  itself  with  life." 

The  real  elements  in  the  life  of  any  people,  the  most 
interesting  and  valuable  portions  of  their  history,  every- 
thing in  them  not  shifting  and  empirical,  may  be  said  to 
constitute  their  poetry.  When  Sir  Philip  Sidney  ordered 
the  cup  of  vrater,  intended  to  slake  his  own  dying  thirst, 
to  be  passed  to  the  wounded  soldier  by  his  side,  he  irifide 
his  most  important  contribution  to  the  poetry  of  his 
Qalion. 


JV04  ESSAYS    AND    REA'IEWS. 

If  our  notion  of  what  constitutes  the  real  be  tenable, 
then  the  whole  question  of  literary  morality  is  easily  set- 
tled. The  test  of  poetry  is  truth  to  the  nature  of  things  ; 
and  if  right  and  wrong  inhere  in  the  nature  of  things, 
a  correct  representation  of  a  reality  cannot  be  immoral. 
With  the  practical  life  of  a  poet  we  have  nothing  to  do ; 
but  one  thing  is  certain,  that  he  must  possess  an  acute 
intellectual  perception,  at  least,  of  the  essential  differ- 
ence, in  the  very  nature  of  things,  between  good  and 
evil,  to  represent  the  objects  qf  his  thought  correctly; 
and  just  in  proportion  as  his  moral  sense  is  blunted,  just 
in  proportion  as  the  low  standard  of  conduct  in  actual 
life  follows  his  delineations  of  real  life,  in  exactly  that 
proportion  will  his  representation  be  false  and  unpoetical. 
The  numberless  names  of  characters,  which  disfigure  bad 
plays  and  novels,  are  instances  of  this  fact.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  represent  life  and  character,  without  a  vivid 
iilsight  into  their  relations  to  right  and  wrong.  The 
empirical  delineations  of  actual  life,  very  common  both 
in  verse  and  prose,  every  one  feels  to  be  superficial. 
Time  inexorably  devours  the  offspring  of  convention, 
because  they  have  no  truth  grounded  in  reality.  If  a 
poet  so  represents  crime  and  weakness  as  to  make  his 
readers  weak  and  criminal,  criticism  as  well  as  morality 
must  call  his  representation  false.  In  this  respect,  taste 
and  morals  use  the  same  test.  The  most  marvellously 
endowed  mind  cannot  alter  the  nature  of  things.  To 
create  is  simply  to  perceive  a  truth  or  a  possible  combi- 
nation, which  has  always  existed,  but  has  never  before 
been  discovered.  The  poet  whose  nature  is  out  of  har- 
mony with  reality  can  but  delineate  unreal  mockeries ; 
for  God's  law  is  above  man's  genius. 

This  fact  brinjrs  us  to  the  consideration  of  two  classes 


ENGLISH  POETS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.      305 

of  poets,  which,  for  the  sake  of  definition,  may  be  termed 
the  intense  and  the  compreliensive  ;  those  who  combine 
according  to  subjective  laws,  and  those  who  combine 
according  to  objective  laws.  In  the  first,  the  individual- 
ity of  the  poet,  roused  into  morbid  energy  by  the  press- 
ure of  actual  life  on  his  sensibility,  overmasters  his 
mind,  and  lends  to  the  objects  which  he  perceives  the 
color  of  his  own  passions  and  prejudices.  He  often  has 
an  insight,  singularly  keen,  into  some  realities,  and  a 
blindness  with  regard  to  others.  He  is  a  fanatic  for  the 
validity  of  his  own  perceptions  of  truth,  no  matter  how 
much  they  may  be  warped  by  his  peculiarities  of  char- 
acter ;  for  the  intensity  with  which  they  afiect  himself 
makes  him  believe  them  as  true  with  respect  to  the  race 
as  to  him.  The  poet,  on  the  contrary,  whose  glance  is 
comprehensive  ;  who,  in  combining  and  representing 
objects,  regards  their  laws  and  relations ;  whose  mind 
reflects  with  the  same  accui-acy  what  is  higher  and  lower 
than  itself ;  who  has  no  desire  to  mould  nature  and  man 
into  his  own  likeness,  but  has  a  genial  feeling  for  all 
orders  and  degrees  of  existence ;  who  strives  to  attain  ■ 
that  general  truth  which  includes  all  individual  varie- 
ties—  he  only  is  worthy  the  praise  of  universality.  Now, 
we  do  not  pretend  to  intimate  that  we  ever  observe  in 
poets  the  perfection  of  either  of  these  two  classes.  The 
egotist  speaks  often  for  the  race,  as  well  as  for  himself; 
and  the  claim  of  any  poet  to  universality  can  be  but 
relative.  But  we  think  that,  for  the  purposes  of  defini- 
tion, we  sufficiently  distinguish  between  the  two,  by 
giving  what  seems  to  be  the  theory  of  each. 

The  force  of  outward  circumstances  often  drives  a  poet 
into  a  narrow  and  intense  individualism,  even  when  his 
mind  is  sufficiently  capacious  for  comprehension.     The 
20 


306  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

poets  and  poetry  of  the  nineteenth  century  are  pertinent 
examples.  The  time  was  especially  calculated  to  inflame 
the  passions,  and  give  undue  prominence  to  particular 
realities.  Viewing  objects  through  the  medium  of  per- 
sonal feeling,  and  disturbing  the  natural  relations  of 
things  in  order  to  accommodate  them  to  the  demands 
of  sensibility,  the  poetry  of  the  period,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Scott's,  has  more  the  appearance  of  impassioned 
declamation  on  man  and  nature,  than  correct  represent- 
ation of  man  and  nature.  Exaggeration  of  particular' 
vices  or  virtues  is  its  general  characteristic.  The  real- 
ities which  pressed  most  forcibly  on  individual  minds  are 
uttered  with  intense  earnestness,  and  continual  glimpses 
are  given  of  lofty  truths ;  but  the  calm  survey  of  the 
whole  domain  of  thought  and  imagination,  the  fine 
sagacity  which  disposes  things  according  to  their  nat- 
ural order,  are  generally  wanting.  The  poetry  is  often 
marked  by  an  eloquent  intolerance,  a  beautiful  fanati- 
cism, a  most  sublime  wilfulness  of  vision.  It  is  light- 
ning, not  sunlight.  The  reader  is  swept  along  with  the 
poet  on  a  tide  of  impetuous  passion,  which  admits  of  no 
let  or  hindrance  from  objective  laws.  No  one  can  deny 
that  it  is  great  poetry,  and  while  under  its  fascination, 
we  deem  it  to  be  the  greatest ;  for  it  is  full  of  those 
thoughts  which 

"  Seize  upon  the  mind,  arrest,  and  search, 
And  shake  it ;  bow  the  tall  soul  as  by  wind  ; 
Rush  over  it,  as  rivers  over  reeds, 
Which  quaver  iu  the  current ;  turn  us  cold 
And  pale,  and  voiceless  ;  —  leaving  in  the  brain 
A  rocking  and  a  ringing  !  " 

In  these  remarks  we  refer  only  to  the  general  charac- 
teristics of  the  poetry;  of  the  period,  with  reference  to  the 


ENGLISH    POETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH    CENTTTRY.    3('  / 

intensity  of  feeling  which  penetrates  it.  We  have  ah'eady 
nlluded  to  the  agency  of  external  causes  in  giving  it  this 
character.  Many  of  the  poets  were  subjected  to  a  per- 
secution peculiar  to  the  nineteenth  century  ;  that  which 
racks  the  soul  and  spares  the  body.  Their  self-conscious- 
ness was  the  result,  in  a  great  degree,  of  personal  suffer- 
ing or  untoward  circumstances.  Much  of  their  time  was 
spent  in  warring  with  the  actual  life  of  their  period,  and 
exposing  its  abuses.  As  far  as  they  did  this,  they  were 
met  by  the  bitterest  and  most  malignant  opposition.  The 
faults  of  their  poetry,  considered  critically,  were  the  faults 
superinduced  upon  their  minds  by  looking  at  great  wrongs 
through  the  medium  of  a  fiery  sensibility  to  justice  and 
truth.  The  direction  of  their  genius  was  determined  by 
their  position  ;  their  intensity  of  passion  was  the  grating 
of  generous  impulses  against  selfish  power.  If  their 
philosophy  lacked  comprehension,  it  was  not  deficient  in 
loftiness.  They  have  embodied  some  of  the  most  refined 
realities  which  the  mind  can  perceive,  in  forms  of  imper- 
ishable grandeur  and  loveliness  ;  and  that  portion  of 
truth  they  were  peculiarly  calculated  to  grasp,  they 
expressed  with  commanding  eloquence,  and  applied  with 
inflexible  courage. 

When  it  is  considered  that  our  era  includes  not  only 
their  intense  feeling  and  lofty  imagination,  but  also  the 
comprehension  of  Scott,  few  will  deny  that,  in  all  the 
essential  qualities  of  a  great  literature,  the  period  is  the 
most  glorious  in  English  letters,  with  the  exception  of 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  The  four  prominent  exponents 
of  this  literature  we  conceive  to  be  Wordsworth,  Byron, 
Shelley,  and  Scott.  In  this  number  we  shall  not  have 
space  to  di)  even  superficial  justice  to  the  two  former. 


308  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

Shelley  and  Scott,  however,  will  be  sufficient  to  serve  as 
illustrations  of  the  subject. 

The  life  of  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  presents  a  notable 
example  of  the  effects  of  social  persecution  on  a  nature 
peculiarly  fitted  to  bring  us  "  news  from  the  empyrean." 
This  mode  of  murder  was  tried  upon  Shelley ;  but  his 
spirit  was  strong,  as  well  as  sensitive,  and  opposed 
weapons  of  ethereal  temper  to  the  brutality  of  his  adver- 
saries. His  writings,  however,  give  evidence  of  the 
injurious  influence  of  the  conflict  upon  the  direction  of 
his  powers.  Possessing  one  of  the  most  richly  gifted 
minds  ever  framed  by  Providence  to  adorn  and  bless  the 
world,  and  a  heart  whose  symj)athies  comprehended  all 
nature  and  mankind  in  the  broad  sphere  of  its  love,  he 
was  still  the  most  unpopular  poet  of  his  time — although 
he  indicated,  perhaps,  more  than  any  other,  the  tenden- 
cies of  its  imaginative  literature,  and  expressed  with 
more  fulness,  precision,  and  beauty,  the  subtle  spiritual- 
ity of  its  tone  of  thought.  His  character  and  his  writings 
were  elaborately  misrepresented.  Persons  infinitely  in- 
ferior to  him,  we  will  not  say  in  genius,  but  in  honesty, 
in  benevolence,  in  virtue,  in  the  practice  of  those  duties 
of  love  and  self-sacrifice  which  religion  enjoins,  still 
contrived  to  experience  for  him  a  mingled  feeling  of  pity 
and  aversion,  unexampled  even  in  the  annals  of  the 
Pharisees.  The  same  sympathizing  apologists  for  the 
infirmities  of  genius  who  shed  tears  and- manufactured 
palliatives  for  Burns  and  Byron,  fell  back  on  the  rigor 
and  ice  of  their  morality  when  they  mentioned  the  name 
of  Shelley.  His  adversaries  were  often  in  ludicrous 
moral  contrast  to  himself.  Venal  politicians,  fattening 
on  public  plunder,  represented  themselves  as  shocked  by 
his  theories  of  government.     Roues  were  apprehensive 


ENOUSn    POETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH    CENTURY.    30'J 

that  his  refined  notions  of  marriage  would  encourage 
liljertinism.  Smooth,  practical  atheists  preached  moral- 
ity and  religion  to  him  from  quarterly  reviews,  and 
defamed  him  with  an  arrogant  stupidity,  and  a  sneaking 
injustice,  unparalleled  in  the  effronteries  and  fooleries  of 
criticism.  That  pure  and  pious  poet,  Thomas  Moore, 
conceived  it  incumbent  on  himself  to  warn  his  immacu- 
late friend.  Lord  Byron,  from  being  led  astray  by  Shel- 
ley's principles  —  a  most  useless  monition  !  Poetasters 
and  rhyme-stringers  without  number  were  published, 
puffed,  patronized,  paid,  and  forgotten,  during  the  period 
when  the  "  Revolt  of  Islam  "  and  "  Prometheus  Unbound  " 
were  only  known  by  garbled  extracts  which  gleamed  amid 
the  dull  malice  of  unscrupulous  reviews.  Men  who  could 
not  write  a  single  sentence  unstained  with  malignity, 
selfishness,  or  some  other  deadly  sin,  gravely  rebuked  him 
for  infidelity,  and  volunteered  their  advice  as  to  the 
manner  by  which  he  might  become  a  bad  Christian  and 
a  good  hypocrite.  But  Shelley  happened  to  be  an  honest 
man  as  well  as  a  poet,  and  was  better  contented  with 
proscription,  however  severe,  than  with  infamy,  however 
splendid.  This  was  a  peculiarity  of  his  disposition  which 
made  his  conduct  so  enigmatical  to  the  majority  of  his 
enemies. 

The  mode  of  judging  Shelley  adopted  by  his  contem- 
poraries, and  followed  by  many  similar  spirits  in  our  own 
day,  seems  to  us  radically  unjust  and  foolish.  It  gives  a 
factitious  influence  to  everj'thing  noxious  in  his  poetry, 
and  subverts  its  own  end  by  the  unscrupulous  eagerness 
with  which  it  seizes  on  bad  means.  It  is  therefore  not 
entitled  to  the  praise  of  judicious  falsehood  and  politic 
bigotn,'.  The  critic  who  would  educe  a  moral  from  his 
writings  and  conduct,  must  not  begin  with  substituting 


310  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

horror  for  analysis.  The  most  favorahle  view  can  be 
taken  of  his  cliaracter,  without  comproniising  a  single 
principle  of  morality  and  religion.  While  this  is  the 
case,  we  see  no  reason  why,  in  the  cause  of  morality  and 
religion,  we  should  echo  stale  invectives  at  conscientious 
error,  and  join  the  hoarse  roar  of  calumny  and  falsehood 
over  his  tomb. 

In  these  remarks  we  do  not  intend  to  deny  that  Shelley 
had  faults.  The  magnitude  of  his  genius  and  virtues 
should  not  cover  these  from  view.  But  we  believe  that 
for  every  act  of  his  life  which  his  conscience  did  not  in 
its  most  refined  perceptions  of  duty  approve,  he  experi- 
enced an  intensity  of  remorse  which  few  are  conscientious 
enough  to  appreciate.  His  education,  and  the  unfortunate 
influences  to  which  he  was  subjected,  account  for  the 
defects  in  his  view  of  life,  and  the  heretical  opinions 
which  mastered  his  understanding.  His  position  was 
such  that  he  was  impelled,  by  what  may  be  called  his 
Christian  virtues,  into  what  must  be  called  his  errors. 
His  self-denial,  his  benevolence,  his  moral  courage,  his 
finest  affections,  his  deepest  convictions  of  duty,  were  so 
addressed  as  to  force  him  into  opposition  to  established 
opinions  relating  to  government  and  religion.  The 
sorrowful  interest  with  which  we  follow  the  events  of 
his  life  arises  from  the  feeling  that  he  was,  to  a  remark- 
able degree,  the  victim  and  prey  of  circumstances.  He 
was  made  to  see  and  feel  the  abuses  of  things  before  he 
understood  their  uses.  In  the  most  emphatic  sense  of 
the  word,  he  was  a  poet.  This  title,  we  fear,  is  too  often 
considered  to  designate  merely  a  maker  of  verses  ;  to 
point  out  a  person  who  can  express  thought  and  emotion 
with  the  usual  variety  of  pause,  swell,  and  cadence  ;  and 
who  often  contrives  to  write  one  thing  and  li^ve  another 


ENGLISH    POEIS    OF    TOE    NINETEENTH    CENTURY.     311 

Not  in  this  sense  was  Shelley  a  poet.  He  was  always 
terribly  in  earnest.  What  he  felt  and  thought,  he  felt 
and  thought  with  such  intensity  as  to  make  his  life  iden- 
tical with  his  verse.  He  was  a  hero  in  the  epic  life  of 
the  nineteenth  century.  Ideas,  abstractions,  which  pass 
like  flakes  of  snow  into  other  minds,  fell  upon  his  heart 
like  sparks  of  fire.  "  He  was  no  tongue-hero,  no  fine 
virtue  prattler."  He  did  not  speak  from  his  lungs,  but 
from  his  soul.  And,  sooner  than  betray  one  honest 
conviction  of  his  intellect,  sooner  than  award  "  mouth- 
honor"  to  what  he  hated  as  cruelty  and  oppression,  he 
was  willing  to  have  his  genius  derided  and  his  name 
defamed. 

We  have  said  that  Shelley  was  poetical  in  what  he 
lived  as  well  as  in  what  he  wrote.  Those  realities  which 
his  soul  did  grasp,  it  held  with  invincible  courage. 
Hymns  to  "  Intellectual  Beauty  "  came  from  his  actions 
as  well  as  his  pen.  He  was  endowed  by  nature  with  an 
intellect  of  great  depth  and  exquisite  fineness  ;  an  imag- 
ination marvellously  endowed  with  the  power  to  give 
shape  and  hue  to  the  most  shadowy  abstractions,  which 
his  soaring  mind  clutched  on  the  vanishing  points  of 
human  intelligence  ;  a  fancy  quick  to  discern  the  most 
remote  analogies,  brilliant,  excursive,  aerial,  affluent  in 
graceful  and  delicate  images ;  and  a  sensibility  acutely 
alive  to  the  most  fleeting  shades  of  joy  and  pain, — 
warm,  full,  and  unselfish  in  its  love,  deep-toned  and 
mighty  in  its  indignation.  This  fiery  spiritual  essence 
was  enclosed  in  a  frame  sensitive  enough  to  be  its  fit 
embodiment.  Both  in  mind  and  body  Shelley  was  so 
constituted  as  to  require,  in  his  culture,  the  utmost  dis- 
crimination and  the  most  loving  care.  *He  received  the 
exact  opposite  of  these.     The  balance  of  his  mind  was 


312  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

early  overthrown.  He  had  boyish  doubts  about  religion, 
which  he  himself  could  not  consider  permanent,  for  his 
opinions  at  college  vacillated  between  D'Holbach,  Hume, 
and  Plato.  These  doubts  were  met,  first  with  contempt, 
then  with  anathemas,  then  with  expulsion  and  disgrace. 
The  consequences  may  be  seen  in  that  wilderness  of 
eloquent  contradictions  —  "  Queen  Mab."  His  more 
mature  opinions  were  visited  with  proscription,  and  he 
was  robbed  of  his  children.  In  every  case  truth  was  so 
presented  to  him  that  he  could  not  accept  it  without 
moral  degradation.  A  mere  lie  of  the  lip,  recommended 
to  him  by  his  preceptor,  would  have  saved  him  from 
expulsion  from  Oxford ;  a  mere  outward  conformity  to 
conventional  usage  would  have  given  him  the  first  rank 
as  a  rich  country  gentleman,  with  houses,  lands,  and  a 
seat  in  parliament.  Society  is  admirably  versed  in  the 
art  of  converting  those  sent  to  bless  and  cheer  it  into 
partial  evils.  Its  success  in  Shelley's  case  is  note- 
worthy.  It  saw  that,  with  all  his  logical  power,  he 
was  unfitted  to  reason  on  the  practical  concerns  of  life 
where  abstract  right  is  modified  by  a  thousand  condi- 
tions of  expediency;  that  when  he  perceived  cruelty  and 
oppression  under  the  forms  of  liberty  and  love,  and  cant 
trampling  reason  in  the  dust,  he  was  too  indignant  to 
discriminate,  with  the  cool  unconcern  of  statesmanship, 
between  a  theor}'  and  its  practice ;  it  saw,  in  short,  that 
he  was  a  true  and  earnest  poet,  with  a  pulse  of  fire  and 
a  mind  of  light ;  and,  of  course,  it  denounced,  and  sim- 
pered, and  lifted  its  hands,  and  rolled  its  eyes,  and 
pointed  its  finger,  and  shot  out  its  tongue,  and  mouthed 
its  commonplace  horror,  and  drove  him  from  its  sweet 
presence  and  companionship ! 

From  the  dispensers  of  the  government  and  religion 


ENGLISH    POETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH    CENTURY.      313 

of  his  own  country,  Shelley  met  with  little  but  injus- 
tice;  in  the  coutitry  of  his  adoption  he  saw  govern- 
ment and  religion  controlled  by  chicane  and  despotism. 
All  the  accidents  and  circumstances  of  his  condition, 
from  his  birth  to  his  death,  concurred  in  placing  the 
most  naturally  religious  of  poets  in  a  position  of  antag- 
onism to  the  outward  forms  and  creeds  of  revealed 
truth. 

The  writings  of  Shelley  are,  to  a  considerable  extent, 
tlie  history  of  his  mind  and  heart,  as  they  were  affected 
by  personal  experiences,  and  the  events  of  his  time. 
His  works  are  an  eloquent  protest  against  the  gulf  which 
separates,  in  life,  the  actual  world  from  the  world  per- 
ceived by  thought  and  imagination.  He  desired  society 
to  be  pure,  free,  unselfish,  devoted  to  the  realization  of 
goodness  and  beauty  ;  and  he  believed  it  capable  of  that 
exaltation.  For  the  simplicity  of  this  faith  he  was 
doomed  to  encounter  all  the  perverted  truth  and  goodness 
that  society  could  command.  No  man  ever  lived  with  a 
deeper  and  more  inextinguishable  thirst  to  promote 
human  libcrfy  and  happiness.  This  master  passion  of 
his  nature  controlled  all  his  other  ambitions,  personal  or 
literary.  His  sense  of  the  hatefulness  of  oppression,  in 
any  form,  almost  amounted  to  bodily  torture.  A  wrono- 
done  to  a  nation,  the  triumph  of  power  over  right,  filled 
him  with  as  much  grief  and  indignation  as  would  be 
excited  in  common  men  by  the  murder  of  a  son  or  a 
brother. 

The  consuming  intensity,  indeed,  with  which  his  soul 
burned  within  him  at  the  sight  and  thought  of  tyranny, 
amounted  almost  to  madness.  It  ran  along  his  veins 
like  tingling  fire.  His  bursts  of  vehement  feeling  appear 
occasionally  to  rend  and  tear  his  frame  in  their  passion- 


314  ESSIYS    AND    REVIEWS, 

ate  utterance.  In  the  reaction  from  these  periods  of 
agyny  and  anguish  of  heart,  his  representations  of  life 
were  necessarily  one-sided.  To  his  mind,  in  this  state, 
where  great  evil  existed,  it  drew  all  things  into  itself. 
The  following  lines  exhibit  the  aspect  under  which  a 
whole  nation  appeared  to  his  sight,  while  his  thoughts 
were  hlled  with  its  corruptions.  They  have  a  moody 
grandeur  of  expression  which  acts  powerfully  on  the  sen- 
sibility, though  they  only  exhibit  the  diseased  phase  of 
Shelley's  philanthropy  :  — 

"ENGLAND  IN  1819. 

"An  old,  blind,  mad,  despised  and  dying  king, 
Princes,  the  dregs  of  their  dull  race,  who  flow 
Through  public  scorn  —  mud  from  a  muddy  spring,  — 
Rulers,  that  neither  see,  nor  feel,  nor  know. 
But,  leech-like,  to  their  fainting  country  cling. 
Till  they  drop,  blind  in  blood,  without  a  blow, — 
A  people,  starved  and  stabbed  in  the  untilled  field,  — 
An  army,  which  liberticide  and  prey 
Makes  as  a  two-edged  sword  to  those  who  wield, — 
Golden  and  sanguine  laws,  which  tempt  and  slay, — 
Religioil,  Christless,  Godless  —  a  book  sealed  ; 
A  Senate  —  Time's  worst  statute  unrepealed,  — 
Are  graves,  from  which  a  glorious  Phantom  may 
Burst,  to  illumine  our  tempestuous  day." 

His  poems  have  been  charged  with  a  lack  of  human 
sympathy  —  a  singular  charge  against  a  poet  whose 
miseries  sprung  from  the  intensity  of  his  human  sym- 
pathies. Indeed,  Shelley's  sympathies  were  naturally 
almost  universal.  Had  his  mind  received  a  genial  devel- 
opment, had  it  not  been  sent  back  upon  itself  to  prey 
upon  its  own  energies,  we  believe  that  it  would  have  dis- 
played as  much  comprehension  as  intensity;  for  in 
reading  Shelley's  poetry  we  are  impressed  with  wha 


ENGLISH    POETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH    CENTURY.    315 

may  be  termed  the  infinite  capability  of  the  man.  The 
direction  his  genius  takes  in  any  composition  never 
seemed  to  in  Hcate  the  bounds  of  his  powers.  What  he 
has  done  we  feel  not  to  be  so  great  as  what  he  might  have 
done.  From  the  maturity  of  the  young  man  who  wrote 
"  Prometheus  Unbound  "  and  "  The  Cenci,"  what  might 
not  have  been  expected  ?  As  it  is,  innumerable  passages 
might  be  quoted  from  his  writings,  to  show  the  baseless- 
ness of  the  objections  to  his  writings,  founded  on  the 
assertion  of  their  lack  of  human  sympathy.  The  pre- 
dominance of  his  spiritual  over  his  animal  nature  ;  the 
velocity  with  which  his  mind,  loosed  from  the  "  grasp  of 
gravitation,"  darted  upwards  into  regions  whither  slower- 
pacing  imaginations  could  not  follow  ;  the  amazing  fer- 
tility with  which  he  poured  out  crowds  of  magnificent 
images,  and  the  profuse  flood  of  dazzling  radiance,  blind- 
ing the  eye  with  excess  of  light,  which  they  shed  over 
his  compositions ;  his  love  of  idealizing  the  world  of 
sense,  until  it  became  instinct  with  thought,  and  infusing 
into  things  dull  and  lifeless  to  the  sight  and  touch  the 
qualities  of  individual  existence  ;  the  marvellous  keen- 
ness of  insight  with  which  he  pierced  beneath  even  the 
refinements  of  thought,  and  evolved  new  materials  of 
wonder  and  delight  from  a  seemingly  exhausted  subject ; 
— all  these,  to  a  superficial  observer,  carry  with  them  the 
appearance  of  unreality.  A  close  examination,  howevei, 
will  often  prove  that  the  unreality  is  merely  in  aj Clear- 
ance,—  is,  in  fact,  the  perception  of  a  higher  reality 
than  the  world  is  willing  to  acknowledge.  But,  waiving 
this  consideration,  no  reader  of  Shelley  can  be  ignorant 
that  his  genius  sympathized  readily  with  the  humble  as 
well  as  tlie  lolty ;  that  some  of  the  most  beautiful  exhi- 
bitions of  tlie  tenderest  and  simplest  aflections  of  the 


316  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

heart  are  to  be  found  in  his  writings ;  that  he  had  an 
ear  exquisitely  tuned  to  catch  the  "  still,  sad  music  of 
humanity ;"  that  human  hopes,  and  fears,  and  loves,  all 
woke  sympathetic  echoes  in  his  heart ;  that  the  language 
of  human  passion  kindles  and  burns  along  his  creations, 
often  with  a  might  and  freedom  almost  Shaksperean. 
Leigh  Hunt  finely  says  of  him,  —  "  Whether  interrogat- 
ing Nature  in  the  icy  solitudes  of  Chamouny,  or  thril- 
ling with  the  lark  in  the  sunshine,  or  shedding  indignant 
tears  with  sorrow  and  poverty,  or  pulling  flowers  like  a 
child  in  the  field,  or  pitching  himself  back  into  the 
depths  of  time  and  space,  and  discoursing  with  the  first 
forms  and  gigantic  shadows  of  creation,  he  was  alike  in 
earnest  and  alike  at  home." 

The  great  stigma  cast  upon  Shelley's  writings  is  irre- 
ligion.  As  far  as  this  is  well  founded,  it  is  most  cer- 
tainly to  be  regretted,  and  to  be  condemned.  There  are 
many  passages  in  his  works  evincing  much  presumption 
and  arrogance,  which  we  could  wish  blotted  out  of  exist- 
ence, were  it  not  for  the  moral  they  convey  to  Christians, 
and  the  light  they  throw  upon  the  history  of  his  mind's 
development.  We  suppose  it  would  be  difficult  to 
adduce  any  man  of  genius,  who  experienced  less  Chris- 
tianity from  others,  and  exercised  more  towards  others, 
than  Shelley.  It  was  but  natural  that  a  man  with  so 
acute  a  sensibility  should  confound  his  own  outward 
experience  of  religionists  with  religion.  It  is  a  matter 
of  astonishment  to  us,  that  those  who  rail  against  Shel- 
ley for  certain  rash  and  wayward  mfidelities  of  expres- 
sions in  his  works,  do  not  ask  themselves  whether  excit- 
able minds  are  not  driven  daily  into  similar  infidelities 
by  the  same  causes  which  influenced  him.  The  man 
whc  sees  Christianity  only  in  its  unnatural  connection 


ENGLISH    POETS    OF   THE    NINETEENTH   CENTUEY.     317 

with  fanaticism  and  hypocrisy,  may  be  pardoned,  at  least, 
for  rejecting  the  latter ;  and  they,  at  the  bottom,  were 
what  Shelley  rejected. 

We  have  previously  said  that  Shelley  was  naturally 
religious.  In  spite  of  the  refining  subtilty  of  his  under- 
standing, he  possessed  in  large  measure  the  quality  of 
faith.  With  regard  to  spiritual  existences,  the  world  is 
composed  of  believers,  half-believers,  and  make-believers. 
Now,  Shelley  was  ever  a  believer.  In  the  writings  of 
few  poets  is  there  so  strong  a  prominence  given  to  Chris- 
tian ideas.  Not  only  does  he  inculcate  the  love  of  all 
that  God  has  made,  not  only  does  he  make  disinterest- 
edness and  self-sacrifice  the  chief  of  virtues,  but  he  stead- 
ily frowns  upon  the  practice  of  revenge.  This  last  pas- 
sion, denounced  by  moralists,  forbidden  by  Christianity, 
has  been  almost  consecrated  by  poets,  whether  Christian 
or  heathen.  Since  Homer,  it  has  been  invested  with  all 
the  pomp  of  passion  and  imagination.  Its  naked  deform- 
ity has  been  disguised  under  the  forms  of  sentiment, 
chivalry,  honor,  glory,  piety  itself.  But  Shelley  consid- 
ers it  at  once  as  a  crime  and  a  blunder.  He  says,  with 
unanswerable  moral  logic, 

"  To  avenge  misdeed 
On  the  misdoer,  is  Misery  to  feed 
With  her  own  broken  heart." 

Love  to  enemies,  he  inculcates  with  an  eloquence  and 
beauty  which  has  rarely  been  surpassed ;  and  in  one  pas- 
sage in  "Prometheus  Unbound,"  he  exalts  the  sentiment 
to  the  height  of  the  moral  sublime  :  — 

"lalit 

On  a  great  ship,  lightning-split. 
And  speeded  hither,  on  the  sigh 
Of  one  who  ffnve  an  enemy 
flw  plank,  tlicn  plAnged  aside  to  die." 


SIS  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

Amid  all  the  heated  feeling  and  exasperating  persecu 
tions  of  his  time,  —  in  considering  even  the  grossest 
injustice  done  to  himself,  Shelley  was  generally  careful 
to  discriminate  between  the  offence  and  the  offender,  and 
to  frown  upon  all  cruelties  done  to  bigots  and  tyrants. 
In  his  most  radical  and  revolutionary  poems,  he  clung 
with  the  fond  reliance  of  childhood  to  the  omnipotence 
of  love  to  soften  hearts  as  hard  as  the  nether  millstone, 
to  redeem  and  purify  hearts  heavy  and  thick  with  the 
accumulated  infamies  of  years.  We  have  not  space,  :ai 
this  connection,  to  do  even  tolerable  justice  to  Shelley's 
marvellous  genius;  but  a  consideration  of  the  poets  of 
the  nineteenth  century  would  indeed  be  faulty,  that  over- 
looked the  heroic  character  of  one  of  the  bravest  and 
gentlest  spirits,  that  "  e'er  wore  earth  about  him." 

Shelley,  with  many  points  of  sympathy  with  Words- 
worth and  Byron,  had  a  different  individuality.  The 
three,  taken  together,  are  the  most  prominent  exponents 
of  the  peculiarities  of  the  poetry  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. They  have  had  innumerable  disciples ;  and  Mr. 
Griswold's  volume  gives  evidence,  on  almost  every  page, 
of  the  influence  they  exerted  upon  the  character  and  ten- 
dency of  the  imaginative  literature  of  their  time.  Their 
point  of  view,  their  phraseology,  the  flow  of  their  verse, 
have  all  been  wholly  or  partly  assumed  by  poets  of  no 
mean  excellence.  We  can  hardly  call  the  latter  imi- 
tators, for  many  of  them  seem  to  have  reproduced  rather 
than  copied  their  prototypes ;  and  the  difference  is  often 
not  so  much  in  feeling  as  in  faculty,  between  the  disci- 
ple and  the  master. 

The  power  of  which  these  three  great  poets  stood 
most  in  need  was  humor.  This  would  have  given  them 
sufficient  tolerance  of  practical  life  to  have  represented 


ENGLISH    PJETS   OF    THE    NINETEENTH   CENTURY.     319 

.t  without  exaggeration.  As  it  was,  they  too  often  flew 
into  a  passion  with  the  world,  and  narrowed  the  range 
of  their  vision  by  dwelling  too  much  on  particular 
objects.  In  their  own  domain  of  imagination,  they  were 
absolute  sovereigns,  and  evinced  wonderful  power,  and 
produced  grand  results;  but  that  domain  was  limited  by 
the  pride  and  passion  of  personality.  To  Scott,  alone, 
of  all  the  poets  of  his  time,  belongs  the  merit  of  compre- 
hension. Although  his  works  could  hardly  have  been 
written  in  any  other  period  than  the  nineteenth  century, 
they  still  are  remarkably  free  from  its  egotism.  No 
writer  since  Shakspeare  has  displayed  such  power  in  the 
creation  and  delineation  of  character,  or  such  freedom 
from  personal  prejudices  in  describing  life  and  manners 
His  charity,  as  has  been  remarked,  extended  even  tc 
opposite  bigotries.  The  passions,  sentiments,  thoughts, 
prejudices  of  human  nature,  have  free  play  in  his 
writings.  His  three  great  contemporaries,  when  they 
attempted  to  delineate  character,  barely  succeeded  in 
delineating  more  than  themselves,  their  opposites,  or 
their  ideals ;  but  Scott,  free  from  the  shackles  of  this 
individualism,  aimed  to  represent  not  one  man,  but 
human  nature.  The  life  that  he  delineates  is  not,  as 
some  imagine,  actual  life.  His  beings  are  emphatically 
beings  of  the  mind,  created  in  accordance  with  the  laws 
of  human  nature,  and  placed  in  natural  situations,  and 
exposed  to  the  usual  vicissitudes  of  life ;  but  still  they 
are  not  copies,  but  creations.  They  have  an  independent 
existence  in  a  world  of  their  own,  a  world  acknowledged 
by  the  imagination  as  a  reality,  and  affecting  us  almost 
as  nearly  as  the  actual  world  in  which  we  live ;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  a  world  in  which  there  is  more  moral 
harmony,  and  a  nearer  realization  of  the  mind's  desires, 


,320  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

than  that  which  comes  under  our  immediate  observatioh. 
Much  of  the  confusion  observed  in  general  judgments  on 
books  and  authors  proceeds  from  the  habit  of  blending 
our  actual  perceptions  of  life  with  the  life  we  lead  in 
thought;  and  the  consequence  is,  that  an  author  who 
represents  in  vivid  colors  the  possibility  of  any  form  of 
actual  life  is  often  deemed  merely  its  copyist.  Scott,  iJor 
instance,  gave  us  no  copy  of  life  as  it  was  in  the  middle 
ages ;  but  he  took  the  elements  of  which  it  was  com- 
posed, moulded  them  into  forms  corresponding  to  their 
nature,  and  exhibited  the  whole  as  something  possible  to 
thought,  after  those  elements  were  given.  The  actual 
history  of  the  times  is  the  mere  raw  material  of  the 
intellectual  product. 

In  meditation,  —  in  evolving  the  spiritual  significance 
of  sensible  objects,  —  in  that  rapid-shaping  imagination 
which  robes  in  forms  of  dazzling  beauty  the  abstract  con- 
ceptions of  the  mind,  —  in  that  sublime  unrest  of  the 
soul,  which  forces  the  mightiest  elements  of  the  universe 
to  become  the  servitors  of  its  wide-wandering  passions 
and  impatient  aspirations,  —  in  that  impulsive  surrender 
of  the  whole  nature  to  the  feeling  or  thought  of  the 
moment,  and  coloring  everything  with  its  gloomy  or 
glittering  hues,  —  in  all  those  sensitive  qualities  of 
intellect  and  passion,  which  all  delight  to  associate 
with  the  bard,  which,  for  the  moment,  take  the  mind 
captive,  and  feel  their  way  in  flame  along  every  nerve 
of  our  being,  —  in  these,  Scott  seems  relatively  deficient 
from  the  objectivity  of  his  creations.  The  individual 
soul,  merging  all  objects  in  itself,  is  not  observable  in  his 
writings.  But  in  his  delineations  of  character,  he  well 
understood,  and  well  represented,  the  influence  of  moods 
of  the  mind  in  modifying  the  shows  of  external  nature, 


ENGUSH   POETS   OF   THE    NINETEENTH   CENTTTEY.     321 

and  the  burning  emphasis  with  which  imaginative  pas- 
sion utters  the  images  which  it  seizes  and  shapes  in 
moments  of  uncontrollable  emotion.  His  works  furnish 
numberless  instances  of  the  sharp,  direct,  smiting  expres- 
sion of  passion,  in  words  that  leap  right  from  the  heart, 
and  strike  their  objects  instantly.  As  his  power  in  this 
respect  was  displayed  only  at  intervals,  from  the  breadth 
and  variety  of  character  he  delineated,  the  pauses  of  his 
passion  have  sometimes  been  laid  to  his  weakness,  when 
they  are  more  properly  referable  to  his  comprehension. 
A  poem  penetrated  throughout  with  intense  individual 
feeling,  in  other  words,  one  long-continued  lyric,  and  a 
poem  including  many  individuals  and  grades  of  feeling, 
are  to  be  judged  by  different  laws.  Shakspeare  could 
easily  have  expanded  Hamlet  into  a  poem.  Had  Hamlet 
lived  in  the  nineteenth  century,  he  might  have  "  multi- 
plied himself  among  mankind  "  like  Byron,  without  pass- 
ing beyond  the  individuality  with  which  Shakspeare  has 
gifted  him.  But  Shakspeare  comprehends  him;-he  does 
not  limit  Shakspeare.  So  Scott,  in  creating  characters, 
observes  the  conditions  of  their  being;  the  wild,  passion- 
ate utterance  befitting  one  person,  in  one  mood,  at  one 
time,  would  not  befit  all  of  his  persons,  in  all  moods,  at 
all  times. 

It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  Scott,  with  all  his 
range  of  vision,  with  all  his  skill  in  painting  scenery, 
with  all  his  love  of  the  beautiful  and  sublime  in  nature, 
evinces  no  very  subtle  perception  of  the  spiritual  myste- 
ries of  the  universe.  In  this  his  great  contemporaries, 
Wordsworth,  Shelley,  and  Byron,  are  his  superiors.  In 
his  description  of  nature  there  is  no  mystical*charm,  no 
"sense  sublime  of  something  still  more  deeply  inter- 
fused."    We  believe  that   this  mystical  element   is  an 


322  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

objective  as  well  as  subjective  reality,  requiring  only 
fineness  of  perception  in  a  peculiar  mood  of  mind  to  be 
perceived.  But  if  Scott  is  here  confessedly  deficient, 
neither  are  his  compositions  "  sicklied  o'er "  with  that 
"  pale  cast  of  thought,"  that  unrest  and  diseased  spirit- 
uality, which  too  often  meet  us  in  the  sensitive  mysti- 
cism of  subjective  poets.  Scott  is  a  hale,  hearty  man, 
through  all  his  writings.  In  his  domain  of  imagination, 
there  is  neither  fog  nor  earthquake,  but  only  cloud  and 
sunshine.  We  cannot  say  that  he  was  deficient  in  a 
sense  of  the  supernatural,  for  that  was  a  prominent  ele 
ment  in  his  genius,  as  in  all  genius ;  but  the  distinction 
we  all  feel  to  exist  between  the  supernatural  and  the 
mystical,  measures  the  difference  between  him  and 
Wordsworth,  in  regard  to  the  more  refined  processes  of 
imagination  and  feeling. 

The  tendency  of  Scott's  writings,  like  the  tendency 
of  all  the  great  compositions  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
is  in  favor  of  human  freedom  and  human  happiness. 
However  strong  may  have  been  the  spell  which  the  past 
exercised  over  his  mind,  whatever  may  have  been  his 
politics,  he  could  not  succeed  in  accurate  delineation  of 
character,  without  allowing  his  genius  to  follow  its  own 
instincts,  and  confer  its  titles  of  nobility  only  on  the 
meritorious.  Those  who  have  attacked  him  for  his  sup- 
posed injustice  to  particular  classes  have  generally  been 
persons  indisposed  to  do  justice  to  the  classes  opposed  to 
themselves.  Critics  who  have  been  bigots  in  their  hatred 
of  him  have  generally  been  bigots  in  their  love^f  some 
other  order  and  development  of  genius.  But  the  most 
pitiful  lie  that  ever  insinuated  itself  into  any  criticism 
above  that  of  Grub-street,  is  the  charge  of  aristocracy 
brought  against  his  writings.      He    had    not,  forsooth, 


ENGLISH    POETS    OK    TUB    NINETEIINTH    CENTUKT.     323 

•'  any  sympathy  with  the  people  "!  If  such  a  foolish  fal- 
lacy be  correct,  then  most  assuredly  he  is  not  the  author 
of  the  Waverley  novels.  The  people,  however,  have  not 
loft  the  task  of  answering  the  charge  to  critics.  But  it 
is  urged  that  he  displays  a  childish  love  of  rank  and 
titles.  This,  in  its  essential  meaning,  is  as  false  as  the 
other.  Who  among  the  characters  in  "  Ivanhoe  "  is 
drawn  with  the  most  power,  —  on  whom  has  the  author 
lavished  the  whole  wealth  of  his  heart  and  imagination? 
Rebecca,  the  despised  and  untitled  Jewess.  In  the 
"  Heart  of  Midlothian,"  there  is  an  interview  between 
Queen  Caroline  and  Jeannie  Deans.  Now,  this  queen 
is  a  case  in  point.  She  ruled  her  husband,  who,  after  a 
fashion,  ruled  Great  Britain.  Yet  the  little  Scotch 
peasant  girl,  with  no  other  titles  than  those  conferred  . 
upon  her  by  the  Most  High,  is  so  represented  that  every 
reader  cannot  but  consider  her  as  superior  to  the  queen. 
Instances  of  a  similar  character  might  be  quoted  without 
number  from  Scott's  poems  and  novels,  to  prove  that 
his  sympathy  with  his  race,  and  especially  with  the 
humbler  portions  of  it,  has  never  been  excelled  by  any 
Nvriter  of  equal  comprehension  of  heart  and  imagination. 
By  casting  it  in  a  dramatic  and  narrative  form,  he  made 
it  more  universally  felt  than  if  he  had  asserted  it  with 
more  impassioned  emphasis.  He  so  exhibited  human 
nature,  that  its  worth  might  be  perceived  by  all.  Tyran- 
ny exists  by  virtue  of  misrepresenting  man.  It  considers 
him  a  wild  animal,  who  can  be  kept  safely  only  by  being 
caged.  Like  the  malignant  Furies,  sent  to  taunt  the 
godlike  Titan,  and  give  a  sharper  poignancy  to  the  ago- 
nies he  endured  for  humanity,  it  continually  teaches  that 

"  Those  who  do  endure 
Deep  \wTongs  for  man,  and  scorn,  and  chains,  bui  heap 
Thousand-fold  lorment  on  themselves  and  him." 


324  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

If  the  theory  of  tyranny  be  correct,  i/s  most  despotic 
acts  are  right.  We  desire  to  know  what  human  nature 
is.  He,  therefore,  who  represents  it  in  characters  tha 
we  feel  to  be  true  to  the  nature  of  things,  and  which 
beget  in  us  a  deeper  sympathy  for  our  kind,  cannot  fail 
to  promote  free  principles.  There  is  enough  democracy 
in  the  Waverley  novels  to  revolutionize  the  world.  The 
science  of  freedom  may  have  been  imperfectly  appre- 
hended by  the  author,  but  its  spirit  and  substance  was 
nevertheless  felt.  The  readers  of  Scott  know  this,  and 
it  is  a  pity  that  his  critics  cannot  lift  themselves  to  their 
point  of  view. 

Two  classes  of  critics  have  attacked  Scott's  character 
and  writings,  —  ultra  radicals  and  ultra  transcendental- 
ists.  He  is  not  democratic  enough  for  the  first,  nor 
spiritual  enough  for  the  second.  The  former,  in  con- 
demning him,  generally  advance  principles  of  criticism 
which  lead,  when  carried  out,  to  the  conclusion  that 
Joel  Barlow  was  a  greater  poet  than  Homer,  because  he 
entertained  more  liberal  notions  of  government.  They 
seem  to  think  that  if  a  poet's  political  opinions  are 
monarchical,  his  representations  of  human  nature  must 
be  heretical.  For  instance,  William  Hazlitt  would  be 
deemed  a  much  more  liberal  writer  than  Scott,  because 
his  works  swarm  with  invectives  and  sneers  against 
aristocracy  and  toryism ;  yet,  in  spirit,  he  was  one  of 
the  bitterest  aristocrats  that  ever  lived,  —  impatient  of 
opposition,  arrogant,  self-willed,  regardless  of  the  rights 
and  feelings  of  others,  the  most  uncompromising  h^ter 
of  his  time.  Now,  a  man  of  this  stamp,  however  splen- 
did may  be  his  talents,  is  not  to  be  trusted  in  the  repre- 
sentation of  life  and  character,  because  his  insight  must 
be  so  distorted  by  his  antipathies,  that  whatever  was  not 


BNGLISB   POETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH   CENTURY,     325 

comprehended  in  the  narrow  circle  of  his  individual 
tastes,  would  be  denounced  or  caricatured.  Yet,  we 
continually  hear  the  judgments  of  such  men  quoted  as 
authorities  against  men  of  infinitely  more  comprehen- 
siveness of  nature.  Hazlitt  detested  Scott's  politics,  and 
believed  all  the  lies  against  his  character.  His  criticisms, 
therefore,  are  curious  specimens  of  mingled  admiration 
and  depreciation.  His  will  is  bent  resolutely  on  making 
Scott  appear  mean  and  odious,  but  his  instinctive  sense 
of  the  excellence  of  what  he  is  depreciating  occasionally 
breaks  out  into  splendid  bursts  of  eulogy.  Sometimes, 
by  shifting  his  point  of  view,  he  would  deride  a  particu- 
lar quality  of  an  author,  after  having  warmly  praised  it 
but  a  few  pages  before.  In  the  "  Spirit  of  the  Age," 
when  he  criticizes  Godwin,  he  speaks  with  utter  con- 
tempt of  the  historical  and  legendary  materials  used  in 
the  Waverley  novels ;  but  in  the  essay  on  Scott,  in  the 
same  volume,  he  makes  these  the  subject  of  one  of  his 
most  magnificent  passages  of  eloquent  panegyric.  None 
would  claim  for  Scott  greater  genius  than  Hazlitt  allows 
him  to  possess,  when  the  mist  of  partisan  liatred  does 
not  dim  his  insight.  We  appeal  from  "Philip  drunk  to 
Philip  sober;" — from  Hazlitt's  individuality  to  Hazlitt's 
sense  of  beauty  and  Hazlitt's  intellectual  acuteness. 

Carlyle's  criticism  has  been  of  late  years  the  standing 
authority  against  Scott.  It  is  amusing  to  see  the  zest 
with  which  its  dogmas  have  been  echoed  by  the  whole 
class  o{  dilettanti  spiritualists.  Carlyle's  essay  is  a  very 
natural  expression  of  Carlyle's  nature.  It  has  great 
individual  truth ;  but  no  criticism  is  less  entitled  to  be  a 
law  to  others.  It  is  an  attempt  to  accommodate  facts  te 
a  prepossession,  —  to  sacrifice  one  man's  genius  to  an 
other  man's  prejudice.     The  tone  of  it  .s  a  "low,  melo 


326       .  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

didis  "  grovvl.  Its  cleverness  consists  in  an  adroit  substi- 
tution of  the  author's  warped  personal  perceptions  for 
the  thing  perceived.  Statements  of  peculiar  individual 
tastes  are  given  as  statements  of  facts.  It  is  even  con- 
demned by  Carlyle's  own  general  principles  of  criticism  ; 
but,  like  Hazlitt,  Carlyle's  general  principles  ever  bend 
to  the  intolerance  of  his  character.  Those,  however, 
who  are  inclined  to  receive  Carlyle's  dictum  with  unhesi- 
tating faith,  would  do  well  to  recollect  that,  in  the  case 
of  Scott,  it  is  contradicted  by  Carlyle's  acknowledged 
critical  and  spiritual  master  —  Goethe.  If  Carlyle  may 
be  believed,  the  latter  possessed  the  surest  insight  of  any 
man  since  Shakspeare  ;  that  in  looking  at  things  he 
always  saw  objects  as  they  were  in  themselves.  Now,  it 
is  curious  that  Goethe's  admiration  of  Scott  was  ex- 
pressed in  nearly  the  same  terms  that  Carlyle  delights  to 
lavish  on  Goethe  ;  and  that  the  pith  of  Carlyle's  objection 
to  Scott,  contained  in  the  phrase  that  he  delineated  char- 
acter from  the  "  flesh  inwards,  not  from  the  heart  out- 
wards," is  almost  literally  the  objection  which  Goethe 
made  to  another  of  Carlyle's  favorites,  Schiller.  Ecker- 
mann's  "Conversations  with  Goethe"  indicate  that  the 
great  German  viewed  Scott  with  almost  unqualified 
admiration.  In  one  connection  he  is  reported  to  say 
that  "  Waverley  may  be  set  beside  the  best  works  that 
have  ever  been  written  in  the  world."  Again,  speaking 
of  the  romajices  generally,  he  says  —  "All  is  great  — 
material,  import,  characters,  execution ;  and  then  what 
infinite  diligence  in  the  preparatory  studies !  what  truth 
of  detail  in  the  composition  !  "  Carlyle  is  struck  with 
the  superficial  character  of  Scott's  productions.  They 
do  little  more,  he  says,  than  amuse  indolent  readers. 
Here  the  disciple  again  comes  in  conflict  with  the  master. 


BNOLISH    POETS    OF    THE    NmETEENTH    CENTURY.     327 

"  Generally,"  says  Goethe,  "  he  shows  great  knowledge 
of  art ;  for  which  reason  those  like  us,  who  always  look 
to  see  hoio  things  are  done,  find  especial  pleasure  and 
profit  in  his  works."  After  reading  "  Ivanhoe,"  we  find 
the  legitimate  successor  of  Shakspeare,  the  man  of  sure 
insight,  holding  this  language  : — "  Walter  Scott  is  a  great 
genius  ;  he  has  not  his  equal  ;  and  we  need  not  wonder 
at  the  extraordinary  effect  he  has  produced  on  the  read- 
ing world.  He  gives  yne  much  to  think  of ;  and  I  dis- 
cover hi  him  a  wholly  new  art^  vnth  laios  of  its  oum." 
Carlyle  cannot  discover  this.  Goethe,  again,  says:  — 
"  His  comprehensive  existence  corresponds  with  his 
great  genius.  You  remember  the  English  critic,  who 
compares  the  poet  with  voices  for  singing,  of  which  some 
can  command  only  a  few  fine  tones,  while  others  can,  at 
pleasure,  run  through  the  whole  compass,  equally  at 
their  ease  with  the  highest  and  the  lowest  note.  Walter 
Scott  is  one  of  this  last  sort." 

In  fact,  Goethe  judges  Scott  as  it  is  fashionable 
among  us  to  judge  German  authors.  It  is  a  pity  that 
much  of  the  acuteness  employed  in  detecting  the  esoteric 
meaning  of  foreign  compositions  is  not  diverted  into 
English  channels.  If  any  of  our  readers  will  turn  to  the 
conversation  in  Eckermann  on  the  "  Fair  Maid  of 
Perth,"  one  of  Scott's  minor  creations,  they  will  see  with 
what  fineness  of  analysis  its  latent  beauties  and  hidden 
laws  are  evolved.  The  mere  novel-reader  deems  it  a 
mere  novel,  but  to  Goethe  it  seems  a  wonderful  work  of 
genius.  In  referring  to  one  slight  circumstance  in  the 
development  of  a  character,  —  so  slight  that  we  believe 
nobody  else  ever  observed  it,  —  Goethe  tells  us  that  "  it 
shows  an  eye  for  human  nature  to  which  the  deepest 
mysteries  lie  open."     Carlyle  would  use  exactly  this  Ian- 


328  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

guage  respecting  Goethe.  Now,  in  these  extracts,  we  see 
one  of  the  greatest  and  most  comprehensive  minds  in 
modern  times,  one,  too,  particularly  gifted  with  a  clear 
perception  of  objective  realities,  discovering  in  Scott 
such  preeminent  intellectual  excellences.  If  any  of  our 
pseudo-transcendental  brethren  are  desirous  of  taking 
their  opinions  at  second-hand,  why  not  select  the  best 
that  can  be  obtained  ?  They  are  sure,  at  least,  of  hav- 
ing Sir  Harcourt's  consolation  : — "My  wife  eloped,  it  is 
true;  but  then  she  did  not  insult  me  by  running  away 
with  a  cursed  ill-looking  scoundrel." 

We  have  referred  to  Scott  thus  at  length  because  it 
has  become  almost  fashionable  to  underrate  his  genius. 
It  must  pass  away,  like  other  fashions.  The  man  is  too 
great  to  have  his  "  quietus  made  "  with  a  "  bare  bodkin." 
As  an  imaginative  writer,  we  have  alluded,  of  course,  to 
his  novels,  as  well  as  poems.  In  both  the  distinctive 
character  of  his  genius  is  observable  ;  but,  in  a  considera- 
tion of  his  mental  power,  his  whole  works  and  life  are 
to  be  brought  into  discussion,  and  these  display  an 
almost  unparalleled  activity  and  force  of  being.  His 
possession  of  rare  capacities  is  not  so  remarkable  as  his 
strength  of  nature  in  their  exercise.  He  was  so  strong 
that  he  overcame  obstacles,  and  mastered  difficulties, 
without  any  of  those  spasmodic  signs  which  usually 
accompany  great  effort. 

The  heroism  of  his  character  does  not  lie  on  the  sur- 
face, and  has  been  too  much  overlooked,  for  that  reason  ; 
but  he  still  was  a  hero,  if  intense  struggle  with  inward 
and  outward  evils  constitutes  heroism.  Because  calamity 
did  not  urge  him,  as  it  did  contemporary  poets,  into 
public  confession  of  feeling,  many  have  deemed  him 
deficient  in  feeling.    After  years  of  almost  gigantic  labor, 


ENGLISH   POETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH    CENTUEY.     329 

and  at  an  age  when  most  men  think  of  retiring  from  all 
active  exercise  of  their  powers,  he  resolutely  bent  his 
energies  to  free  himself  from  enormous  pecimiary  liabili- 
ties. For  what  sentimental  idealists  would  call  the 
mere  vulgar  virtue  of  paying  his  debts,  he  consciously 
sacrificed  his  life.  He  literally  paid  his  creditors  in 
instalments  of  his  vitality ;  and  worked  incessantly  until 
brain  and  heart  were  crushed  beneath  the  load  of  labor. 
Had  the  "pound  of  flesh  nearest  his  heart"  been  cut 
off  at  once,  it  would  have  been  mercy  compared  to  that 
lingering  toil,  that  slow  exhaustion  of  faculty,  that  grad- 
ual letting  forth  of  the  blood,  drop  by  drop,  which  was 
the  mode  ordained  for  his  destruction.  Now,  if  instead 
of  killing  himself  to  pay  his  debts,  he  had  written  a 
very  affecting  "  Farewell  to  my  Books,"  or  some  elegant 
rhymes  accusing  fortune  of  cruelty,  or  a  truculent  rhap- 
sody about  his  own  miseries,  —  had  he  done  as  poets 
usually  do  when  great  practical  evils  pitilessly  invade 
the  sanctuaries  of  their  ideal  existence,  —  we  have  no 
doubt  that  his  personal  admirers  would  be  multiplied 
among"  men  of  deep  feeling,"  and  "genial  critics,"  and 
mild-mannered  sympathizers  with  "  the  infirmities  of 
genius."  The  same  disposition  which  makes  society  so 
fearful  that  the  private  mourner  will  not  experience  suffi- 
cient grief,  and  so  nicely  critical  of  his  conduct  and 
features  after  calamity,  leads  it  to  expect  that  men  of 
genius  will  be  communicative  in  misery,  and  allow  no 
"secret  wounds  to  bleed  beneath  their  cloaks." 

The  position  of  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  among 
his  contemporaries  has  never  been  settled  by  common 
consent.  Mr.  Griswold  boldly  places  him  at  the  head, 
calling  "  him  the  most  wonderful  genius  of  the  nine- 
teenth century."     When  we  consider  the  beauty  and 


330  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEtVS. 

delicacy  of  his  genius,  and  the  all  but  universal  aa'juire- 
ments  of  his  mind,  it  is  difficult  to  resist  joining  in  the 
acclamation  of  his  disciples.  A  great  part  of  his  fame 
is  doubtless  owing  to  the  passionate  eulogies  of  friends 
who  enjoyed  his  companionship,  and  listened  to  the 
eloquence  of  his  conversation.  Wordsworth  speaks  of 
him  as  the  "rapt  one,  with  the  godlike  forehead,"  the 
"  heaveri-eyed  creature."  Hazlitt  says  that  no  idea  ever 
entered  the  mind  of  man,  but  at  some  period  or  other 
"  it  had  passed  over  his  head  with  rustling  pinions." 
Talfourd  writes  of  seeing  "  the  palm-trees  wave,  and  the 
pyramids  tower,  in  the  long  perspective  of  his  style." 
All  who  knew  him  seemed  to  have  confidence  in  his 
capacity  of  doing  an  indefinite  something,  which  no 
other  man  could  do.  The  records  of  his  conversation,  in 
a  book  called  "  Coleridge's  Table  Talk,"  are  mere  rub- 
bish compared  with  what  we  might  have  expected  from 
the  eulogists  of  his  discourse.  In  fact,  Coleridge's  repu- 
tation was  greater  for  the  works  he  was  to  write,  than 
for  those  he  had  written.  With  regard  to  his  intended 
productions,  society  "  never  was,  but  always  to  be,  blest." 
His  mighty  work  on  philosophy,  which  his  disciples  were 
Continually  preparing  the  world  to  receive,  never  came. 
In  the  "  Friend  "  and  the  "  Aids  to  Reflection,"  there  is 
displayed  a  lack  of  constructive  power,  which  casts 
"ominous  conjecture"  on  his  capacity  to  frame  a  system 
of  metaphysics  at  once  comprehensive  and  comprehen- 
sible. They  can  hardly  be  called  philosophical,  replete 
though  they  be  with  splendid  fragments  of  truth  and 
examples  of  intellectual  acuteness  and  force.  They 
excite  wonder,  because  the  processes  of  the  understand- 
ing and  the  imagination  are  continually  crossing  each 
Other,   and    producing   magnificent    disorder.      Visioai 


ENGLISH    POETS    OF    TIIE    N'INETEENTH    CENTURY.       331 

intermingle  with  deductions,  and  inference  follows  image. 
He  thinks  emotions,  and  feels  thoughts.  We  hear  the 
"rustling  pinions"  of  the  great  principle  that  is  to  com- 
prehend all,  but  it  passes  over  the  head,  not  into  it. 
The  mind  of  the  man  does  not  seem  to  comprehend  and 
bind  together  the  ideas  it  singly  perceives  or  appropri- 
ates. His  prose  works  contain  great  things,  without 
being  great  works.  They  give  an  impression,  which  we 
believe  was  felt  among  many  of  his  contemporaries,  that 
he  was  half  seer,  and  half  charlatan. 

From  his  poetry,  his  philosophical  criticism,  and  the 
traditions  of  his  conversation,  Coleridge  will  probably 
be  most  esteemed  by  posterity.  As  a  poet  we  think  that 
his  genius  is  displayed  with  the  most  wonderful  effect 
in  "Christabel"  and  "The  Ancient  Mariner."  In  these 
the  mystical  element  of  human  nature  has  its  finest 
poetical  embodiment.  They  act  upon  the  mind  with  a 
weird-like  influence,  searching  out  the  most  obscure 
recesses  of  the  soul,  and  waking  mysterious  emotions  in 
the  verj'  centre  of  our  being;  and  then  sending  them  to 
glide  and  tingle  along  every  nerve  and  vein  with  the 
effect  of  enchantment.  It  is  as  if  we  were  possessed 
with  a  subtile  insanity,  or  had  stolen  a  glance  into  the 
occult  secrets  of  the  universe.  All  our  customary  im- 
pressions of  things  are  shaken,  by  the  intrusion  of  an 
indefinite  sense  of  fear  and  amazement  into  the  soul. 
To  address  so  refined  an  element  of  thought  as  this,  is 
one  of  the  most  daring  efforts  of  genius;  for  the  chances 
are  always  in  favor  of  failure,  and  failure  inevitably 
draws  down  ridicule.  Everj^body  detests  the  idea  of 
mysticism,  and  denies  its  legitimacy;  and  keen  must  be 
the  imagination  which  suc'ceeds  in  piercing  through  the 
common  experience  of  consciousness,  to  its  remote  seat 


332  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

in  our  nature.  When  it  is  awakened,  no  effort  of  the 
will  can  stifle  its  subtle  workings.  Touched  by  a  master 
mind,  it  becomes  a  source  of  mysterious  delight;  and 
Coleridge  knew  well  the  mental  avenues  and  labyrinths 
through  which  language  must  pass  to  reach  its  dwelling- 
place.  He  could  likewise  stir  that  supernatural  fear  in 
the  heart,  which  he  has  so  powerfully  expressed  in  one 
stanza  of  the  "Ancient  Mariner'* — a  fear  from  which 
no  person,  poet  or  prosaist,  has  ever  been  entirely  free ; 
—  and  which  makes  the  blood  of  the  pleasantest  atheist 
at  times  turn  cold,  and  his  philosophy  slide  away  under 
his  feet : — 

"  Like  one,  that  on  a  lonesome  road 
Doth  walk  in  fear  and  dread, 
And  having  once  turned  round,  walks  on, 

And  turns  uo  more  his  head, 
Because  he  knows  a  frightful  fiend 
Doth  close  behind  him  tread." 

The  harmony  and  variety  of  Coleridge's  versification, 
his  exquisite  delineations  of  the  heart,  his  command  of 
imagery,  his  "wide-wandering  magnificence  of  imagin- 
ation," have  so  often -been  the  theme  of  admiring  com- 
ment, that  they  need  not  be  dwelt  upon  here.  There  is 
no  person,  with  the  least  pretension  to  poetical  taste, 
who  cannot  find  something  in  Coleridge,  either  in  the 
gorgeous  suggestiveness  of  his  poetry,  or  in  its  delicate 
and  graceful  feeling,  to  admire  or  love.  There  are,  at 
the  same  time,  a  number  of  obvious  faults,  scattered  over 
his  poems,  which  evince  that  he  sometimes  reposed  on 
his  laurels,  and  wrote  when  he  ought  to  have  slept. 
Some  of  his  love  pieces  are  merely  pretty,  and  others 
tame  and  mawkish.  No  poet,  with  so  much  feeling  and 
faculty  for  the  sublime,  and  with  such  a  sway  over  the 
most  majestic  harmonies  of  sound,  ever  allowed  himseJf 


ENGLISH    POETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH    CENTURY.       333 

to  fall  into  such  bombast  as  occasionally  disfigures  his 
style.  Affluent  as  he  was,  he  seems  to  have  sometimes 
selected  those  hours  for  composition  when  his  mind 
chanced  to  be  barren  and  nerveless  ;  and  the  results  of 
those  sterile  intervals  every  lover  of  his  genius  would 
desire  to  see  blotted  from  his  works.  It  appears  impos- 
sible that  the  mind  that  created  "Genevieve"  should 
likewise  have  produced  amatory  verses  which  would  do 
no  honor  to  Mrs.  Cowley  or  Robert  Merry.  Coleridge, 
indeed,  surprises  us  almost  as  much  by  his  failures  as 
his  triumphs. 

Robert  Southey  fills  a  large  space  in  the  literary 
annals  of  our  time.  His  name  and  his  powers  were 
connected  with  those  of  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge,  in 
the  poetical  revolution  which  marked  the  commencement 
of  the  century.  Though  the  largest  portion  of  his  time 
was  spent  in  retirement,  he  was  engaged  in  continual 
contests.  Byron  detested  and  reviled  him,  with  the 
utmost  warmth  of  his  nature ;  and  the  Edinburgh  Re 
view,  for  a  series  of  thirty  years,  made  him  the  object  of 
its  sarcasm  and  ridicule.  Many  of  these  attacks  were 
almost  justified  by  Southey's  owr|  intolerance  of  nature. 
He  was  a  dogmatist  of  the  most  provoking  kind,  —  cool, 
calm,  bitter,  and  uncompromising;  and  he  delighted  to 
dogmatize  on  subjects  which  his  mind  was  unfitted  to 
treat.  Nothing  could  shake  his  egotism.  Though,  in 
many  respects,  one  of  the  best  of  Christians  and  noblest 
of  men,  he  ^vas  never  free  from  bigotry  when  there  was 
any  occasion  for  its  development.  He  often  confounded 
his  prejudices  with  his  duties,  and  decked  out  his  ha- 
treds in  the  colors  of  his  piety.  In  all  his  controversies 
he  never  seems  to  have  appreciated  the  rights  of  an 
adversary.     Tn  oppose  him  was  to  champion  infidelity 


334  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

or  anarchy.  Yet  no  man  had  more  kindness  of  heart 
or  displayed  greater  willingness  to  befriend  either  strug- 
gling genius  or  mediocrity,  when  his  controversial  pas- 
sions were  stilled.  If  we  look  at  him  from  one  point  of 
view,  he  seems  the  most  unamiable  of  men ;  while  from 
another,  he  appears  the  most  benevolent  and  gentle.  He 
was  a  kind  of  St.  Dominic  on  one  side  of  his  nature,  and 
a  kind  of  Fenelon  on  the  other.  His  adversaries,  there- 
fore, he  made  his  enemies,  and  his  friends  became  his 
partisans. 

As  a  prose  writer  Southey  was  more  successful  than 
as  a  poet.  His  prose  style  is  of  such  inimitable  grace, 
clearness  and  fluency,  that  it  would  make  nonsense 
agreeable.  His  poetry  indicates  a  lack  of  shaping  imag- 
ination, and  is  diffusely  elegant  in  expression.  He  often 
gives  twenty  lines  to  a  comparison  which  Shelley  or 
Wordsworth  would  have  compressed  into  an  epithet. 
In  narrative  skill,  and  constructive  power,  he  excels 
both  ;  and  is  himself  excelled  only  by  Scott.  His  mind 
was  exceedingly  fertile  in  the  invention  of  incident. 
"Thalaba"  and  the  "Curse  of  Kehama  "  are  the  most 
dazzling  of  his  long  poems,  and  show  to  the  best  advan- 
tage the  whole  resources  of  his  mind.  In  these  the 
originality  consists  in  connecting  common  passions  and 
common  virtues  with  the  most  fantastical  and  uncommon 
incidents,  and  in  exhibiting  the  powers  and  feelings  of 
human  nature  in  relation  to  the  grotesque  fictions  of 
superstitious  faith.  The  predominant  faculty  in  exer- 
cise is  fancy ;  and,  were  it  not  that  the  author's  percep- 
tions of  character  and  conduct  are  rigidly  severe,  the 
whole  representation  would  appear  like  a  feverish  dream  ; 
but  the  continual  presence  of  the  faults  and  the  virtues 
of  Robert  Southey,  amid  the  most  monstrous  and  im- 


ENOi.r.m  POETS  OF  THE  NiNetekntii  century.     33i) 

probable  machinery  of  his  story,  give?  to  the  essential 
substance  of  the  poems  a  character  of  didactic  reality 
Inhuman  or  superhuman  actions  are  performed  from 
human  motives,  and  relate  to  human  ideas  of  duty  and 
feeling. 

In  the  delineation  of  the  passions,  Southey  manifests 
generally  more  of  the  theologian  than  of  the  poet.  h:fe 
is  almost  always  represented  either  as  lust  or  adoration. 
Macaulay  pointedly  remarks,  that  "his  heroes  make  love 
either  like  seraphim  or  like  cattle."  There  is  no  golden 
mean  between  the  extremes  of  passion,  in  his  delinea- 
tions. He  never  could  have  written  "  Genevieve,"  or 
represented  Effie  Deans.  There  is  something  harsh  and 
hard  in  his  monility,  which  prevents  his  forming  a  tol- 
erant estimate  of  character.  His  men  and  women  are 
didactic  rather  than  dramatic,  —  embodiments  of  essays 
on  human  nature,  rather  than  embodiments  of  human 
nature  itself.  They  evince  a  great  lack  of  insight,  and 
nave  little  objective  truth.  His  characters  are  mirrors  to 
reflect  the  outlines  of  his  own  individuality.  As  a  poet, 
he  seems  to  us  to  fall  below  Scott,  Shelley,  Wordsworth, 
Coleridge,  Byron,  and  to  belong  to  the  second  class  of 
contemporary  poets.  In  imagination  and  true  poetic 
feeling,  we  should  hesitate  to  place  him  on  an  equality 
with  Campbell,  Barry  Cornwall,  Tennyson,  and  Keats, 
although  in  general  capacity  and  acquirements,  and 
especially  in  force  of  individual  character,  he  is  their 
superior.  It  requires  no  prophetic  gift  to  predict  that 
most  of  his  verse  is  destined  to  die. 

Thomas  Moore  began  his  career  with  singing,  not  the 
"  Loves  of  the  Angels,"  but  the  loves  of  the  roues.  His 
early  poems  are  probably  the  most  disgraceful  legacies  of 
licentious  thought  ever  bequeathed  by  prurient  youth  to 


336  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

a  half-penitent  age.  They  are  exceedingly  clever,  un- 
principled, and  pernicious.  We  never  read  any  verses, 
produced  b}"  one  at  the  same  tender  years,  so  utterly 
deficient  in  moral  sense.  Their  gilded  vulgarity  is  not 
even  redeemed  by  any  depth  of  passion.  They  are  the 
mere  children  of  fancy  and  sensation,  having  no  law 
higher  than  appetite.  They  constitute  the  libertine's 
text-book  of  pleasant  sins,  full  of  nice  morsels  of  wicked- 
ness, and  choice  tit-bits  of  dissoluteness.  What  there  is 
poetical  in  them  is  like  the  reflection  of  a  star  in  a  mud- 
puddle,  or  the  shining  of  rotten  wood  in  the  dark. 

The  taint  of  this  youthful  voluptuousness  infects  much 
of  Moore's  more  matured  composition.  His  mind  never 
wholly  became  emancipated  from  the  dominion  of  his 
senses.  His  notion  of  Paradise  comes  from  the  Koran, 
not  the  New  Testament.  His  works  are  pictorial  repre- 
sentations of  Epicureanism.  Pathos,  passion,  sentiment, 
fancy,  wit,  are  poured  melodiously  forth  in  seemingly 
inexhaustible  abundance,  and  glitter  along  his  page 
as  though  written  down  with  sunbeams ;  but  they  are 
still  more  or  less  referable  to  sensation,  and  the  "  trail  of 
the  serpent  is  over  them  all."  He  is  the  most  superficial 
and  empirical  of  all  the  prominent  poets  of  his  day  ;  and, 
with  all  his  acknowledged  fertility  of  mind,  with  all  his 
artistical  skill  and  brilliancy,  with  all  his  popularity,  he 
never  makes  a  profound  impression  on  the  soul,  and  few 
ever  think  of  calling  him  a  great  poet,  even  in  the  sense 
in  which  Byron  is  great.  He  is  the  most  magnificent 
trifler  that  ever  versified.  Nothing  can  be  finer  than  his 
sarcasm,  nothing  more  brilliant  than  his  fancy,  nothing 
more  softly  voluptuous  than  his  sentiment.  But  he  pos- 
sesses no  depth  of  imagination,  no  grandeur  of  thought, 
no  clear  vision  of  purity  a.n<^  holiness.     He  has  i^^'ther 


ENGLISH  POETS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTtmT.       337 

joftiness  nor  comprehension.  Those  who  claim  for  him 
a  place  among  the  immortals  are  most  generally  young 
people,  who  are  conquered  by  the  "dazzling  fence"  of 
his  rhetoric,  and  the  lightning-like  rapidity  with  which 
he  scatters  fancies  one  upon  another.  He  blinds  the  eye 
with  diamond  dust,  and  lulls  the  ear  with  the  singing 
sweetness  of  his  versification.  Much  of  his  sentiment, 
which  fair  throats  warble  so  melodiously,  is  merely  ideal- 
ized lust.  The  pitch  of  his  thought  and  feeling  is  not 
high.  The  impression  gained  from  his  works  is  most 
assuredly  that  of  a  man  variously  gifted  by  nature,  adroit, 
ingenious,  keen,  versatile,  "  forgetive,"  —  a  most  remark- 
able man,  but  not  a  great  poet.  Nothing  about  his 
works  "  wears  the  aspect  of  eternity." 

As  a  lyrical  poet,  he  has  written  many  exquisite  songs, 
and  no  bad  ones.  His  power  of  expression  is  always 
equal  to  the  thought  or  emotion  to  be  expressed.  As  far 
as  he  has  conception,  he  has  language.  His  lyrics  are 
numerous  and  various,  and  relatively  excellent.  But 
even  here,  his  strongest  ground,  he  is  not  great.  Accord- 
ing to  the  character  and  capacities  of  a  poet,  will  be  the 
merit  of  his  lyrics.  Moore,  in  all  his  celebrations  of 
patriotism  and  love,  has  never  reached  the  elevation  of 
his  great  contemporaries.  To  be  a  great  lyrist,  a  poet 
must  have  great  elements  of  character.  These  Moore 
does  not  possess.  He  has  written  nothing  equal  to  the 
be5(  songs  and  odes  of  Campbell,  though  the  latter  has 
no  claim,  to  his  versatility  and  fluency  of  feeling  and 
fancy. 

The  fame  of  Thomas  Campbell  will  ultimately  rest  on 

his  lyrics.     They  are  grand  and  stirring  compositions, 

•full  of  the  living  energy  of  high  emotion,  and  dotted,  here 

and  there,  with  fine  flashes  of  imagination.     They  corner 

22 


^38  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

too,  from  deep  sources  of  feeling  and  inspiration.  Camp* 
bell  possessed  a  noble  nature,  but  its  impulses  were 
checked  by  an  incurable  laziness.  He  "  dawdled  "  too 
much  over  his  long  compositions.  The  capacity  of  the 
man  is  best  displayed  in  those  burning  lyrics  which 
were  called  forth  by  the  events  of  his  time.  When  his 
soul  was  roused  to  its  utmost,  it  ever  manifested  great 
qualities.  His  poems,  generally,  will  probably  live. 
His  descriptions  of  the  gentler  passions  have  exquisite 
tenderness  and  pathos,  when  not  injured  by  over  refine- 
ment in  the  expression.  His  condensation  is  often 
remarkable  for  its  artistical  excellence  and  its  effective- 
ness. The  bombast,  strained  metaphors,  and  turgid 
epithets,  which  occasionally  disfigure  his  compositions, 
were  the  result  of  indolence,  more  than  bad  taste.  We 
can  select  lines  and  stanzas  from  his  poems,  having  all 
the  appearance  of  inspiration,  which  must  have  been  pro- 
duced in  a  state  of  mental  apathy.  His  works,  generally, 
are  good  examples  of  the  distinction  between  poetry  and 
eloquence,  in  not  admitting  the  diffuse  magnificence  of 
the  latter.  Almost  all  his  contemporaries  who  were 
deeply  stirred  by  individual  calamities,  or  who  entered 
into  colloquies  with  the  public,  would  often  merge  the 
poet  in  the  orator.  Byron  was  more  lavish  of  his  passion 
than  his  imagination.  Had  Campbell  written  "  Childe 
Harold,"  it  would  have  cost  him  ten  years  more  labor 
than  it  did  the  author,  and  would  not  have  been  half  as 
long. 

Mr.  Griswold  informs  us,  with  admirable  gravity,  that 
the  writings  of  Alfred  Tennyson  have  sufficient  merit 
"  to  secure  him  a  permanent  place  in  the  third  or  fourth 
rank  of  contemporary  English  poets."  This  is  rather  an 
amusing  slip  of  his  cautious  pen.     Tennyson  s  genius  is 


ENGLISH  I'OETS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.       339 

of  too  marked  a  nature  to  be  disposed  of  with  so  much 
nonchalance.  Of  all  the  successors  of  Shelley,  he  pos- 
sesses the  most  sureness  of  insight.  He  has  a  subtle 
mind,  of  keen,  passionless  vision.  His  poetry  is  charac- 
terized by  intellectual  intensity  as  distinguished  from  the 
intensity  of  feeling.  He  watches  his  consciousness  with 
a  cautious  and  minute  attention,  to  fix,  and  condense, 
and  shape  into  form,  the  vague  and  mystical  shadows  of 
thought  and  feeling  which  glide  and  flit  across  it.  He 
listens  to  catch  the  lowest  whisperings  of  the  soul.  His 
imagination  broods  over  the  spiritual  and  mystical  ele- 
ments of  his  being  with  the  most  concentrated  power. 
His  eye  rests  firmly  on  an  object  until  it  changes  from 
film  into  form.  Some  of  his  poems  are  forced  into  artis- 
tical  shape  by  the  most  patient  and  painful  intellectual 
processes.  His  utmost  strength  is  employed  on  those 
mysterious  facts  of  consciousness  which  form  the  staple 
of  the  dreams  and  reveries  of  others.  His  mind  winds 
through  the  mystical  labyrinths  of  thought  and  feeling, 
with  every  power  awake,  in  action,  and  wrought  up  to 
the  highest  pitch  of  intensity.  The  most  acute  analysis 
is  followed,  step  by  step,  by  a  suggestive  imagination, 
which  converts  refined  abstractions  into  pictures,  or 
makes  them  audible  to  the  soul  through  the  most  cun- 
ning combinations  of  sound.  Everj'thing  that  is  done  is 
the  result  of  labor.  There  is  hardly  a  stanza  in  his 
writings  but  was  introduced  to  serve  some  particular  pur- 
pose, and  could  not  be  omitted  vvithout  injury  to  the 
general  effect.  Evervthincr  has  meaning.  Everj'  idea 
was  won  in  a  lair  conflict  with  darkness,  or  dissonance, 
or  gloom.  The  simplicity,  the  barrenness  of  ornament, 
in  some  of  his  lines,  are  as  much  the  result  of  contriv- 
ance as  his  most  splendid  images.     With  what  labor. 


340  ESSAYS    AND    REVliiWS. 

for  instance,  with  what  attentive  watching  of  conscious* 
ness,  must  the  following  stanza  have  been  wrought  into 
shape : — 

''  All  those  sharp  fancies,  by  down-lapsing  thought 
Streamed  onward,  lost  their  edges,  and  did  creep, 
Rolled  on  each  other,  rounded,  smoothed  and  brought 
Into  the  gulfs  of  sleep." 

This  intense  intellectual  action  is  displayed  in  hia 
delineations  of  nature  and  individual  character,  as  well 
as  in  his  subjective  gropings  into  the  refinements  of  his 
consciousness.  In  describing  scenery,  his  microscopic 
eye  and  marvellously  delicate  ear  are  exercised  to  the 
utmost  in  detecting  the  minutest  relations  and  most 
evanescent  melodies  of  the  objects  before  him,  in  order 
that  his  representation  shall  include  everything  which  is 
important  to  their  full  perception.  His  pictures  of  Eng- 
lish rural  scenery,  among  the  finest  in  the  language,  give 
the  inner  spirit  as  well  as  the  outward  form  of  the 
objects,  and  represent  them,  also,  in  their  relation  to  the 
mind  which  is  gazing  on  them.  But  nothing  is  spon- 
taneous ;  the  whole  is  wrought  out  elaborately  by  patient 
skill.  The  picture  in  his  mind  is  spread  out  before  his 
detecting  and  dissecting  intellect,  to  be  transferred  to 
words  only  when  it  can  be  done  with  the  most  refined 
exactness,  both  as  regards  color,  and  form,  and  melody. 
He  takes  into  calculation  the  nature  of  his  subject,  and 
decides  whether  it  shall  be  definitely  expressed  in  images, 
or  indefinitely  through  tone,  or  whether  both  modes  shall 
be  combined.  His  object  is  expression,  in  its  true  sense; 
to  reproduce  in  other  minds  the  imagination  or  feeling 
which  lies  in  his  own  ;  and  he  adopts  the  method  which 
seeris  best  calculated  to  effect  it.     He  never  will  trust 


ENGLISH   POETS  f)F  THE  NINETEENTH  CENrUHY.      341 

liimself  to  the  impulses  of  passion,  even  in  describing 
passion.  All  emotion,  whether  turbulent  or  evanescent, 
is  passed  through  his  intellect,  and  curiously  scanned. 
To  write  furiously  would  to  him  appear  as  ridiculous, 
and  as  certainly  productive  of  confusion,  as  to  paint 
furiously,  or  carve  furiously.  We  only  appreciate  his 
art  when  we  consider  that  many  of  his  finest  conceptions 
and  most  sculptural  images  originally  appeared  in  his 
consciousness  as  formless  and  mysterious  emotions,  hav- 
ing seemingly  no  symbols  in  nature  or  thought. 

If  our  position  is  correct,  then  most  certainly  nothing 
can  be  more  incorrect  than  to  call  any  poem  of  Tenny- 
son's unmeaning.  Such  a  charge  simply  implies  a  lack 
in  the  critic's  mind,  not  in  the  poet's.  The  latter  always 
means  something  in  everything  he  writes  ;  and  the  form 
in  which  it  is  embodied  is  chosen  with  the  most  careful 
deliberation.  It  seems  to  us  that  the  purely  intellectual 
element  in  Tennyson's  poetry  has  been  overlooked, 
owing  perhaps  to  the  fragility  of  some  of  his  figures,  and 
the  dreaminess  of  outline  apparent  in  others.  Many 
think  him  to  be  a  mere  rhapsodist,  fertile  in  nothing  but 
a  kind  of  melodious  empiricism.  No  opinion  is  more 
contradicted  by  the  fact.  There  are  few  authors  who 
will  bear  the  probe  of  analysis  better. 

The  poetry  of  Tennyson  is,  moreover,  replete  with 
magnificent  pictures,  flushed  with  the  finest  hues  of  lan- 
guage, and  speaking  to  the  eye  and  the  mind  with  the 
vividness  of  reality.  We  not  only  see  the  object,  but 
feel  the  associations  connected  with  it.  His  language  is 
penetrated  with  imagination  ;  and  the  felicity  of  his 
epithets,  especially,  leaves  nothing  to  desire.  "Godiva" 
combines  simplicity  of  feeling  with  a  subtle  intensity  of 
imagination,  which  remind  us  half  of  Chaucer  and  half 


342  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

of  Shelley.  Like  the  generality  of  Tennyson's  poems, 
though  short,  it  contains  elements  of  interest  capable  of 
being  expanded  into  a  much  larger  space.  But  the  poem 
which  probably  displays  to  the  best  advantage  his  variety 
of  power  is  "  The  Gardener's  Daughter."  It  is  flushed 
throughout  with  the  most  ethereal  imagination,  though 
the  incidents  and  emotions  come  home  to  the  common 
heart,  and  there  is  little  appearance  of  elaboration  in  the 
style.  It  is  bathed  in  beauty  —  perfect  as  a  whole,  and 
finished  in  the  nicest  details  with  consummate  art. 
There  is  a  seeming  copiousness  of  expression  with  a  real 
condensation ;  and  the  most  minute  threads  of  thought 
and  feeling,  —  so  refined  as  to  be  overlooked  in  a  care- 
less perusal,  yet  all  having  relation  to  the  general  effect, 
—  are  woven  into  the  texture  of  the  style  with  the  most 
admirable  felicity.  "  Locksley  Hall,"  "  jEnone,"  "  The 
May  Queen,"  "Ulysses,"  "The  Lotos-eaters,"  "The 
Lady  of  Shalott,"  "Mariana,"  "Dora,"  "The  Two 
Voices,"  "  The  Dream  of  Fair  Women,"  "  The  Palace 
of  Art,"  all  different,  all  representing  a  peculiar  phase 
of  nature  or  character,  are  still  all  characterized  by  the 
cunning  workmanship  of  a  master  of  expression,  giving 
the  most  complete  form  to  the  objects  which  his  keen 
vision  perceives.  The  melody  of  verse,  which  distin- 
guishes all,  ranging  from  the  deepest  organ  tones  to  that 

"  Music  which  gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies 
Than  tired  eyelids  upon  tired  eyes," 

IS  also  of  remarkable  beauty,  and  wins  and  winds  its 
way  to  the  very  fountains  of  thought  and  feeling. 

We  extract  a  few  of  Tennyson's  pictures,  in  illustra- 
tion of  his  imaginative  and  artistical  power.  It  will  be 
seen  that  they  are  illustrations  of  moods  of  mind  as  well 


ENGLISH   POETb  Vt  TllK  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.      343 

as  images  of  scenery  ;  that  they  all  bring  with  them  a 
host  of  suggestive  associations. 

"  For  some  ^«  ire  hung  with  arras  green  and  blue, 
Showing  a  gaudy  sunniier-mom, 
Where  with  puffed  cheek  the  belted  hunter  blew 
His  wreathed  bugle-horn. 

•'  One  seemed  all  dark  and  red  — a  tract  of  sand  ; 

And  some  one  pacing-  there  alone, 
Who  paced  forever  in  a  glimmering  land, 
Lit  with  a  low  large  moon. 

"One  showed  an  iron  coast  and  angry  waves, 
You  seemed  to  hear  them  climb  and  fall 
And  roar,  rock-thwarted,  under  bellowing  cares, 
Beneath  the  windy  wall. 

"  And  one,  a  full-fed  river  winding  slow 
By  herds  upon  an  endless  plain, 
The  ragged  rims  of  thunder  brooding  low, 
With  shadow  streaks  of  rain." 

***** 
"A  still  salt  pool,  locked  in  with  bars  of  sand, 
Left  on  the  shore  —  that  hears  all  night 
The  plunging  seas  draw  backward  from  the  land 
Their  moon-led  waters  white." 

***** 
"  As  in  strange  lands  a  traveller  walking  slow. 
In  doubt  and  great  perplexity, 
A  little  before  niooii-rise  hears  the  low 
Moan  of  an  unknown  sea." 

***** 
"  For  there  was  Milton,  like  a  seraph  strong, 
Beside  him  Shakspeare  bland  and  mild  ; 
And  there  the  world-worn  Dante  grasped  his  song, 
And  somewhat  grim  I  ij  smiled." 

***** 
"So  shape  chased  shajie  as  swift  as,  when  to  land 
Bluster  the  winds  and  tides  the  self-same  wav 
Crisp  foam-flakes  scud  along  the  level  sand 
Torn  from  the  fringe  of  spray." 


344  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 


"  Her  slow,  full  words  sank  through  the  silence  dreat 
As  thunder-drops  fall  on  a  sleeping  sea." 
***** 
"  A  saying  hard  to  shape  in  act, 
For  all  the  past  of  time  reveals 
A  bridal  dawn  of  thunder-peals, 
Wherever  Thought  has  wedded  Fact." 
***** 
"Idalian  Aphrodite  beautiful, 
Fresh  as  the  foam,  new-bathed  in  Paphian  wells, 
With  rosy  slender  fingers  backward  drew 
From  her  warm  brows  and  bosom  her  deep  hair 
Ambrosial,  golden  round  her  lucid  throat 
And  shoulder  ;  from  the  violets  her  light  foot 
Shone  rosy-white,  and  o'er  her  rounded  form, 
Between  the  shadow  of  the  vine  branches. 
Floated  the  glowing  sunlight  as  she  moved." 
***** 

"  The  swimming  vapor  slopes  athwart  the  glen, 
Puts  forth  an  arm,  and  creeps  from  pine  to  pine, 
And  loiters,  slowly  drawn." 

***** 

•*  Behind  the  valley  topmost  Gargarus 
Stands  up  and  takes  the  morning." 

***** 

•'  And  Freedom  reared  in  that  august  sunrise 
Her  beautiful  bold  brow, 
When  rites  and  forms  before  his  burning  eyes 
Melted  like  snow." 

***** 

•*  The  viewless  arrows  of  his  thoughts  were  headed 
And  winged  with  flame." 

***** 

"  But  ever  at  a  breath 
She  lingered,  looking  like  a  summer  moon 
Half  dipt  in  cloud  ;  anon  she  shook  her  head 
And  showered  the  rippled  ringlets  to  her  knee ; 
Unclad  herself  in  haste  ;  adown  the  stairs 
Stole  on ;  and,  like  a  creeping  sunbeam,  slid 
From  pillar  unto  pillar,  until  she  reached 
The  gateway  ;  there  she  found  her  palfrey  tfBpt 
In  purple  blazoned  with  armoiiai  gold." 


ENGLISH   POETS   OF   THE    NINETEENTH   CENTUET.    345 

We  close  our  extracts  from  Tennyson  with  the  poem 
of  "  Ulysses."  For  its  length,  it  is  certainly  one  of  the 
most  grandly  solemn  pieces  of  wisdom  in  English  litera- 
ture. The  unbroken  majesty  of  its  tone,  the  calm  depth 
of  its  thought,  the  picturesque  images  which  serenely 
blend  with  the  fixed  feeling  of  the  piece,  the  spirit  of 
hoar  antiquity  which  pervades  it,  and  the  clearness  with 
which  the  whole  picture  is  brought  home  to  the  imagin- 
ation, leave  upon  the  soul  a  most  profound  impression  of 
the  author's  genius. 

"ULYSSES. 

"  It  little  profits  that  an  idle  king. 
By  this  still  hearth,  among  these  barren  crags, 
Matched  with  an  aged  wife,  I  meet  and  dole 
Unequal  laws  unto  a  savage  race, 
That  hoard,  and  sleep,  and  feed,  and  know  not  me. 
I  cannot  rest  from  travel:  I  will  drink 
Life  to  the  lees :  all  times  I  have  enjoyed 
Greatly,  have  suffered  greatly,  both  with  those 
That  loved  me,  and  alone  ;  on  shore,  and  whea 
Through  scudding  drifts  the  rainy  Hyades 
Vest  the  dim  sia:  I  am  become  a  name  ; 
For  always  roaming  with  a  hungry  heart, 
Much  have  I  seen  and  known  ;  cities  of  men 
And  manners,  climates,  counsels,  governments, 
Myself  not  least,  but  honored  of  them  all ; 
And  drunk  delight  of  battle  with  my  peers, 
Far  on  the  ringing  plains  of  windy  Troy. 
I  am  a  part  of  all  that  I  have  met ; 
Yet  all  experience  is  an  arch  where  through 
Gleams  that  untravelled  world,  whose  margin  fades 
Forever  and  forever  when  I  move. 
How  dull  it  is  to  pause,  to  make  an  end, 
To  rust  unburnished,  not  to  shine  in  use  ! 
As  though  to  breathe  were  life.     Life  piled  on  life 
Were  all  too  little,  and  of  one  to  me 
Little  remains  :  but  ever}'  hour  is  saved 
From  that  eternal  silence,  something  more, 
A  bringer  of  new  things  ;  and  vile  it  were 


346 


ESSAYS    AKD   REVIEWS. 

For  some  three  suns  to  store  and  hoard  myself, 
And  this  gray  spirit  yearning  in  desire 
To  follow  knowledge,  like  a  sinking  star, 
Beyond  the  utmost  bound  of  human  thought. 
This  is  my  son,  mine  own  Telemachus, 
To  whom  I  leave  the  sceptre  and  the  isle  — 
Well  lovedof  me,  discerning  to  fulfil 
This  labor,  by  slow  prudence  to  make  mild 
A  rugged  people,  and  through  soft  degrees 
Subdue  them  to  the  useful  and  the  good. 
Most  blameless  is  he,  centred  in  the  sphere 
Of  common  duties,  decent  not  to  fail 
In  offices  of  tenderness,  and  pay 
Meet  adoration  to  my  household  gods 
When  I  am  gone.     He  works  his  work,  I  mine. 
There  lies  the  port :  the  vessel  puffs  her  sail : 
There  gloom  the  dark  broad  seas.     My  mariners, 
Souls  that  have  toiled,  and  wrought,  and  thought  with  me- 
That  ever  with  a  frolic  welcome  took 
The  thunder  and  the  sunshine,  and  opposed 
Free  hearts,  free  foreheads  —  you  and  I  are  old; 
Old  age  hath  yet  his  honor  and  his  toil ; 
Death  closes  all:  but  something  ere  the  end, 
Some  work  of  noble  note,  may  yet  be  done, 
Not  unbecoming  men  that  strove  with  Gods. 
The  lights  begin  to  twinkle  from  the  rocks: 
The  long  day  wanes :  the  slow  moon  climbs :  the  deep 
Moans  round  with  many  voices.     Come,  my  friends, 
'T  is  not  too  late  to  seek  a  newer  world. 
Push  off,  and,  silting  well  in  order,  smite 
The  sounding  furrows  :  for  my  purpose  holds 
To  sail  beyond  the  sunset,  and  the  baths 
Of  all  the  western  stars,  until  I  die. 
It  may  be  that  the  gulfs  will  wash  us  down  ; 
It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  Happy  Isles, 
And  see  the  great  Achilles,  whom  we  knew. 
Though  much  is  taken,  much  abides  ;  and  though 
We  are  not  now  that  strength  which  in  old  days 
Moved  earth  and  heaven  ;  that  which  we  are,  we  are  ; 
One  equal  teni|)er  of  heroic  hearts. 
Made  weak  by  time  and  fate,  but  strong  in  will 
To  strive,  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield." 


ENGLISH    POETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH    CENTURY.      347 

The  poetry  of  Bryan  Waller  Proctor  (Barry  Corn- 
wall) has  splendid  traits  of  genius.  Passages  might  be 
clipped  from  his  writings  which  no  poet  would  disown. 
The  difficulty  with  him  is,  that  he  writes  often  in  a  "fury 
and  pride  of  soul,"  without  having  definite  ideas  and 
images.  Feeling,  —  strong,  vehement,  rushing  feeling, 
—  which  clutches  at  illustrations  speaking  to  the  ear  and 
sensibility  rather  than  the  imagination,  is  the  inspiration 
of  much  of  his  poetry.  Occasionally  his  verse  splits  on 
the  rocks  of  obscurity  and  rant.  But  there  is  a  breadth 
of  passion  in  some  of  his  poems,  which,  whether  it  is 
expressed  in  vast  and  vague  metaphors,  or  simmers  and 
gleams  in  radiant  fancies,  or  is  poured  out  on  his  page  in 
one  hot  gush,  or  leaps  deliriously  down  the  "  dark,  deep, 
thundering  river"  of  his  style,  has  ever  a  kindling  effect 
on  sensibility.  There  never  was  a  poet  more  honest  in 
the  expression  of  his  nature.  His  songs  are  the  reflec- 
tions of  all  moods  of  his  mind,  and  he  cares  not  if  the 
sentiment  of  one  contradicts  that  of  another.  In  grief, 
or  love,  or  fear,  or  dei,pair,  at  the  festive  board  or  the 
bed  of  sickness,  wherever  and  whenever  the  spirit  of  song 
comes  to  him,  it  takes  the  color  of  the  emotion  which 
animates  or  saddens  the  moment.  He  is  a  large-hearted 
and  most  lovable  man ;  and  his  poetry  is  admired 
because  it  is  the  expression  of  his  character. 

Proctor  is  not  deficient  in  fineness  as  well  as  fulness 
of  passion.  There  is  a  depth  of  meaning  in  some  of  his 
pieces  which  is  felt  in  the  remotest  sanctuaries  of  our 
being.  Though  a  little  affectation  and  daintiness  may 
occasionally  creep  into  his  delineations  of  the  softer  pas- 
sions, he  has  given  us  many  exquisite  pictures  of  pensive 
beauty.  The  tenderness  of  a  kindly  and  generous  heart, 
and  the  thoughtfulness  of  a  brooding  spirit,  are  often  dis- 


348  ESSAYS   AND  REVIEWS. 

played  in  his  writings.  His  imagination  acts  with  as 
much  effect,  perhaps,  in  shedding  over  his  representations 
of  feeling  a  warm,  rich,  golden  flush,  as  in  shaping  beau- 
tiful and  graceful  images.  Without  taking  into  consid- 
eration the  passionate  beauty  of  many  of  his  dramatic 
scenes,  his  songs  would  be  sufficient  to  stamp  his  repu- 
tation. For  the  union  of  voluptuous  repose  with  the 
most  perfect  purity,  what  can  excel  the  following  *  — 

"A  CHAMBER  SCENE. 

"  Tread  softly  through  these  amorous  rooms  : 

For  every  bough  is  hung  with  life. 

And  kisses,  in  harmonious  strife, 
Unloose  their  snarp  and  winged  perfumes  1 
From  Afric,  and  the  Persian  looms, 

The  carpet's  silken  leaves  have  sprung, 

And  heaven,  in  its  blue  bounty,  flung 
These  starry  flowers,  and  azure  blooms. 

"  Tread  softly !     By  a  creature  fair 

The  deity  of  love  reposes. 

His  red  lips  open,  like  the  roses 
Which  round  his  hyacinihine  hair 

Hang  in  crimson  coronals ; 

And  passion  fills  the  arched  halls  ; 
And  beauty  floats  upon  the  air. 

"  Tread  softly  —  softly,  like  the  foot 

Of  Winter,  shod  with  fleecy  snow, 
Who  Cometh  white,  and  cold,  and  mute. 

Lest  he  should  wake  the  Spring  below. 
O,  look!  for  here  lie  Love  and  Youth, 

Fair  spirits  of  the  heart  and  mind  ; 
Alas  !  that  one  should  stray  from  truth, 

And  one  —  be  ever,  ever  blind ! " 

Had  we  space  we  should  like  to  extract  "  A  Petition 
to  Time,"  "  The  Lake  has  Burst,"  the  address  "  To  the 
Singer  Pasta,"  and,  indeed   a  number  of  Mr.  Griswrjld'a 


ENGLISH   POETS   OF   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTUaY.      319 

Other  selections  from  Proctor.  We  pass  over  them,  how- 
ever, to  insert  "The  Storm,"  a  grand  example  of  imag- 
ination pervaded  by  the  most  powerful  feeling,  and 
throwing  off  images  of  the  intensest  beauty  and  grand- 
eur. 

"A  STORM. 

"  The  spirits  of  the  mighty  sea 

To-night  are  wakened  from  their  dreams, 
And  upward  to  the  tempest  flee, 

Baring  their  foreheads,  where  the  gleams 

Of  lightning  run,  and  thunders  cry, 

Rushing  and  raining  through  the  sky. 

*'  The  spirits  of  the  sea  are  waging 

Loud  war  upon  the  peaceful  night, 
And  bands  of  the  black  winds  are  raging 

Through  the  tempest  blue  and  bright ; 
Blowing  her  cloudy  hair  to  dust 
With  kisses,  like  a  madman's  lust! 

"  What  ghost  now,  like  an  At6,  walketh 

Earth  —  ocean  —  air  ?  and  aye  with  Time, 

Mingled,  as  with  a  lover  tedketh  ? 
Methinks  their  colloquy  sublime 

Draws  anger  from  the  sky,  which  raves 

Over  the  self-abandoned  waves  ! 

"  Behold  !  like  millions  massed  in  battle. 

The  trendiling  billows  headlong  go, 
Lashing  the  barren  deeps,  which  rattle 

In  mighty  transport,  till  they  grow 
All  fruitful  in  their  rocky  home, 
And  burst  from  frenzy  into  foam. 

"  And  look  !  where  on  the  faithless  billows 
Lie  women,  and  men,  and  children  fair  ; 

Some  hanging,  like  sleep,  to  their  swollen  pillows, 
With  helpless  sinews  and  streaming  hair. 

And  some  who  plunge  in  the  yawning  graves  ! 

Ah!  lives  there  no  strength  beyond  the  waves  1 


350  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

"  'T  is  said,  Ihe  moon  can  rock  the  sea 
From  frenzy  strange  to  silence  mild  — 

To  sleep  —  to  death  :  —  But  where  is  she, 
While  now  her  storm-born  giant  child 

Upheaves  his  shoulder  to  the  skies  ? 

Arise,  sweet  planet  pale  —  arise! 

"  She  Cometh  lovelier  than  the  dawn 

In  summer,  when  the  leaves  are  green  — 

More  graceful  than  the  alarmed  fawn, 
Over  his  grassy  supjier  seen  : 

Bright  quiet  from  her  beauty  falls, 

Until  —  again  the  tempest  calls  ! 

"  The  supernatural  Storm  —  he  waketh 
Again,  and  lo  !  from  sheets  all  white, 
Stands  up  into  the  stars,  and  shaketh 

Scorn  on  the  jewelled  locks  of  night. 
He  carries  a  ship  on  his  foaming  crown, 
And  a  cry,  like  hell,  as  he  rushes  down ! 

"And  so  still  soars  from  calm  to  storm 
The  stature  of  the  unresting  sea: 
So  doth  desire  or  wrath  deform 
Our  else  calm  humanity  — 
Until  at  last  we  sleep, 
And  never  wake  nor  weep, 
(Hushed  to  death  by  some  faint  tune,) 
In  our  grave  beneath  the  moon  !  " 

Jean  Paul  says  that  some  souls  fall  from  heaven  like 
flowers,  but  that  ere  the  pure  and  fresh  buds  have  had 
time  to  open,  they  are  trodden  in  the  dust  of  the  earth, 
and  lie  soiled  and  crushed  beneath  the  foul  tread  of  some 
brutal  hoof.  It  was  the  fate  of  John  Keats  to  illustrate, 
in  some  respects,  this  truth.  He  experienced  more  than 
the  ordinary  share  of  the  world's  hardness  of  heart,  and 
had  ess  than  the  ordinary  share  of  sturdy  strength  to 
bear  it.  In  him,  an  imagination  and  fancy  of  much  nat- 
ura.   capacity  were  lodged  in  a  frame  too  weak  to  sup 


ENGLISH    POETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH   CENTURY.       351 

tain  the  shocks  of  life,  and  too  sensitive  for  the  develop- 
ment of  high  and  sturdy  thought.  The  great  defect  of 
Ills  nature  was  a  lack  of  force.  Since  his  death,  it  has 
become  a  common  cant  to  speak  of  him  as  possessing 
something  Miltonic  in  his  genius.  It  seems  to  us  that 
this  argues  a  misunderstanding  of  Keats  as  well  as 
Milton.  In  all  the  din  of  this  world's  conflicts,  —  sur- 
rounded by  the  bitterest  and  basest  adversaries,  —  hemmed 
in  by  calamities  of  the  most  terrible  nature,  —  with  noth- 
ing external  on  which  to  lean  for  support,  —  Milton  still 
ever  proved  himself  like  "  a  semph  strong."  Nothing  on 
earth  was  mightier  than  his  force  of  will.  The  intense 
depth  and  strength  of  his  character,  tested  both  in  the 
endurance  and  repulse  of  evil,  was  the  prominent  element 
of  his  genius.  He  did  not  need  that  the  wolves,  and 
vultures,  and  all  "  those  creeping  things  that  riot  in  the 
decay  of  nobler  natures,"  should  suspend  their  tasks  out 
of  pity  for  him.  He  could  exist,  though  the  whole  pack 
was  howling  and  flapping  around  his  very  dwelling. 
This  lofty  independence  of  circumstances,  this  invulner- 
ability of  soul,  is  a  part  of  Milton's  genius.  Neither 
"Comus"  nor  "  Paradise  Lost"  could  have  been  written 
without  it. 

Now,  Keats  belongs  to  a  class  of  beings  entirely  dif- 
ferent. His  nature  was  essentially  sensitive.  Far  from 
being  independent  of  others,  he  held  his  life  at  the  mercy 
of  others.  To  murder  him  was  a  cowardly  murder,  yet 
who  can  expect  magnanimity  from  bullies  ?  But,  had  he 
possessed  a  great  nature,  he  would  not  have  been  mur- 
dered, though  all  the  critics  of  his  time  had  leagued 
against  him.  William  Giffbrd  kill  John  Milton  —  why, 
he  could  not  kill  Leigh  Hunt !  There  is  danger  in  ad- 
mitting a  doctrine  which   places  the   life   of  the  noblest 


362  ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS. 

genius  at  the  mercy  of  every  liar  and  libeller  that  may 
lift  his  hoof  against  him.  Keats  died  because  he  was 
weak — because,  from  the  peculiar  constitution  or  disease 
of  his  nature,  he  was  unfitted  to  struggle  with  the  calam- 
'ties  which  beset  actual  life.  "  I  feel  the  daisies  grow- 
ing over  me,"  he  said,  on  his  death-bed.  If  any  epitaph 
were  put  above  him,  he  requested  that  it  should  be  — 
"  Here  lies  one  whose  name  was  writ  in  water."  This 
js  very  affecting,  but  it  is  the  opposite  of  Miltonic.  We 
never  pity  Milton. 

In  his  early  poems,  Keats  appears  as  a  kijid  of  youth- 
ful Spenser,  without  Spenser's  moral  sense  or  judgment. 
His  soul  floats  in  a  "  sea  of  rich  and  ripe  sensation." 
The  odors,  forms,  sounds,  and  colors  of  nature,  take  him 
captive.  There  is  little  reaction  of  his  mind  on  his  sen- 
sations. He  grows  faint  and  languid  with  the  excess  of 
light  and  loveliness  which  stream  into  his  soul.  His 
individuality,  without  being  merged  in  the  objects  of  his 
thoughts,  is  narrowed  and  enfeebled.  All  that  is  mighty 
in  nature  and  man  is  too  apt  to  be  "sicklied  o'er"  with 
fanciful  sentimentalities.  The  gods  are  transformed 
into  green  girls,  and  the  sublime  and  beautiful  turned 
to  "  favor  and  to  prettiness."  Everything  is  luscious, 
sweet,  dainty,  and  debilitating,  in  his  sense  of  love  and 
beauty.  There  are  few  hymns  and  numberless  ditties. 
There  is  no  descent  into  his  soul  of  that  spirit  of  Beauty, 
that  "  awful  loveliness,"  before  whose  presence  the  poet's 
sensations  are  stilled,  and  in  whose  celebration  his  lan- 
guage is  adoration.  In  the  place  of  this,  there  is  an  all- 
absorbing  relish  and  delicate  perception  of  beauties,  —  a 
kind  of  feeding  on  "  nectared  sweets,"  —  a  glow  of 
delight  in  the  abandonment  of  the  soul  to  soft  and  de« 


ENGLISH    POETS    OF   THE    NINETEENTH   CENTURY.      353 

licious  images,  framed  by  fancy  out  of  rich  sensations. 
It  is  rather  reverie  than  inspiration. 

This  bewildering  sense  of  physical  pleasure  was  gen- 
erally predominant  in  Keats.  It  was  the  source  of  the 
thousand  affectations  and  puerilities  which  mar  his 
poems,  and  H  had  a  debilitating  effect  on  his  intellect. 
A  keen  sensitiveness  of  perception  doubtless  character- 
izes all  great  poets.  Keats  is  supposed  to  have  had 
more  of  this  power,  because  he  lacked  other  and  equally 
important  powers,  or  because  it  obtained  over  them  such 
a  mastery.  No  man  ever  possessed  more  fineness  of 
sensibility  to  outward  nature  than  Shelley,  but  it  was 
developed  in  connection  with  a  piercing  intellect,  which 
was  never  overcome  with  the  mere  deliciousness  of 
things.  He  had  altogether  more  depth  of  insight,  nobler 
.deals,  greater  reach  of  thought  and  breadth  of  passion, 
a  stronger  hold  upon  existence,  than  Keats.  The  con- 
founding of  fine  sensations  with  moral  sense,  the  pleas- 
urable with  the  right,  is  a  great  defect  of  Keats's  poetry. 
If  we  compare  him  with  Spenser,  who  possessed  even  a 
keener  feeling  of  the  physically  delightful,  and  a  richer 
imagination  to  mould  it  into  dazzling  shapes  and  fasci- 
nating images,  we  see  that  the  most  voluptuous  descrip- 
tions of  enchanting  scenes  and  objects  are  heightened  in 
their  effect  by  being  disposed  according  to  moral  and 
spiritual  laws.  Had  Spenser  been  deficient  in  moral 
jjense,  "  The  Faery  Queene  "  would  have  been  made  the 
most  corrupting  of  all  modern  poems. 

In  his  later  works,  the  imagination  of  Keats  was  some- 
what released  from  the  thraldom  of  sensation,  and  evinced 
.Tiore  independent  power.  "  The  Eve  of  St.  Agnes  "  is 
delicately  beautiful,  and  perfect  of  its  kind ;  but  it  is  not 
poetry  of  the  highest  order.  The  sense  of  luiury  is  its 
23 


354  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

predominant  characteristic,  and  though  full  of  exquisite 
fancies,  it  has  no  grand  imaginations.  "  Hyperion  "  is 
altogether  his  noblest  work,  and  contains  passages  of  un- 
common excellence.  But  through  the  whole  of  his  poetry 
we  think  there  is  seen,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  the 
qualities  we  have  previously  indicated.  In  the  classifi- 
cation of  poets,  we  have  to  take  the  general  rule,  and 
not  the  exceptions.  That  the  poetry  of  Keats  is  full  of 
beauties,  that  it  evinces  a  most  remarkable  richness  and 
sensitiveness  of  fancy  and  suggestiveness  of  imagination, 
that  it  contains  passages  of  a  certain  rough  sublimity 
seemingly  above  its  general  tone,  and  that  it  occasionally 
makes  the  "  sense  of  satisfaction  ache  with  the  unreach- 
able delicacy  of  its  epithets,"  is  cheerfully  acknowledged 
by  every  one  who  reads  poetry  without  having  his  fancy 
and  imagination  shut  by  prejudice  ;  but  that  it  evinces 
the  force  and  fire,  the  depth,  the  grandeur,  or  the  com- 
prehensiveness, of  a  great  nature,  that  it  displays  powers, 
—  we  will  not  say,  like  those  of  Milton,  —  but  like  those 
of  either  of  the  great  poets  of  the  nineteenth  century,  is 
a  dogma  to  which  neither  the  life  nor  the  writings  of 
Keats  afford  any  adequate  support. 

Ebenezer  Elliott,  the  Corn  Law  Rhymer,  is  one  of 
the  most  characteristic  of  poets.  The  inspiration  of  his 
verse  is  a  fiery  hatred  of  injustice.  Without  possessing 
much  creative  power,  he  almost  places  himself  beside 
men  of  genius  by  the  singular  intensity  and  might  of  his 
sensibility.  He  understands  very  well  the  art  of  con- 
densing passion.  "  Spread  out  the  thunder,"  says  Schil- 
ler, "  into  its  single  tones,  and  it  becomes  a  lullaby  for 
children  ;  pour  it  forth  together,  in  one  quick  peal,  and 
the  royal  sound  shall  move  the  heavens."  The  great 
ambition  of  Elliott  is  to  thunder.     He  is  a  brawny  man, 


ENGLISH    POETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH    CENTURY.      355 

of  nature's  own  make,  with  more  than  the  usual  portion 
of  the  ancient  Adam  stirring  within  him ;  and  he  says, 
"  I  do  well  to  be  angry."  The  mere  sight  of  tyranny, 
bigotry,  meanness,  prompts  his  smiting  invective.  His 
poetry  could  hardly  have  been  written  by  a  man  who  was 
not  physically  strong.  You  can  hear  the  ring  of  his 
anvil,  and  see  the  sparks  fly  off  from  his  furnace,  as  you 
read  his  verse.  He  stoutly  wrestles  with  the  difficulties 
of  utterance,  and  expresses  himself  by  main  force.  His 
muscles  seem  made  of  iron.  He  has  no  fear  and  little 
mercy ;  and  not  only  obeys  the  hot  impulses  of  his  sen- 
sibility, but  takes  a  grim  pleasure  in  piling  fuel  on  the 
flame.  He  points  the  artillery  of  the  devil  against  the 
devil's  own  legions.  His  element  is  a  moral  diabolism, 
compounded  of  wrath  and  conscience.  When  an  abuse 
of  government  eats  into  his  soul,  he  feels  like  Samson  in 
the  temple  of  the  Philistines.  There  is  a  wonderful  en- 
ergy in  many  of  his  vituperative  Corn  Law  Lyrics.  In 
those  poems  in  which  the  price  of  bread  does  not  intrude, 
we  see  the  nature  of  the  man  in  a  more  orderly  devel- 
opment; poems,  which  Mr.  Griswold  correctly  describes 
as  giving  "  simple,  earnest,  and  true  echoes  of  the  affec- 
tions," and  as  breathing  the  spirit  of  "  a  kind  of  primi- 
tive life,  unperverted,  unhackneyed,  and  fresh  as  the 
dews  on  his  own  hawthorn."  The  spirit  of  his  other 
style  may  be  partially  seen  in  the  following  passionate 
♦'  Com  Law  Hymn." 

«'  CORN  LAW  HYMN. 

"  Lord !  call  thy  pallid  angel  — 
The  tamer  of  the  strong  ! 
And  bid  him  whip  with  want  and  woe 
The  champions  of  the  wr  mg  I 


356  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

O  say  not  thou  to  ruin's  flood, 

*  Up,  slun:a;ard  !  why  so  slow  7 ' 
But  alone  let  them  groan, 

The  lowest  of  the  low  ; 
And  basely  beg  the  bread  they  curse 

Where  millions  curse  them  now  ! 

"  No  ;  wake  not  thou  the  giant 

Who  drinks  hot  blood  for  wine  ; 
And  shouts  unto  the  east  and  west 

In  thunder-tones  like  thine  ; 
Till  the  slow  to  move  rush  all  at  once, 

An  avalanche  of  men, 

While  he  raves  over  waves 

That  need  no  whirlwind  then  ; 
Though  slow  to  move,  moved  all  at  once, 

A  sea,  a  sea  of  men  !  " 

Through  Elliott's  poems  the  vast  mass  of  EnglisL 
wretchedness  and  misery  has  found  eloquent  and  pierc- 
ing utterance.  He  speaks  what  thousands  feel.  Never 
was  there  a  more  terrible  offering  of  hatred  made  by  the 
squalor  of  a  nation  to  its  splendor  —  by  the  famine- 
wasted  to  the  feast-fattened. 

When  Thomas  Babington  Macaulay  appeared  as  a 
poet,  it  might  have  been  expected  that  his  muse  would 
have  been  roughly  treated  by  contemporary  reviewers. 
As  a  critic,  he  had  scattered  numberless  sarcasms,  which 
could  have  appeared  to  their  objects  only  in  the  light  of 
gratuitous  insults.  No  reviewer  ever  excelled  him  in 
adding  to  the  torture  of  grave  condemnation  a  sharper 
epigrammatic  sting.  The  quick  sagacity  with  which  he 
detected  faults  was  equalled  only  by  his  independence  in 
lashing  them  —  an  independence  which,  always  free 
from  the  impulses  of  fear,  was  sometimes  superior  to 
those  of  benevolence.  His  scorn  had  been  launched  at 
many  authors,  whose  connection  with  influential  jour- 


ENGLISH    rOETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH    CENTT7RY,     357 

nals  gave  them  the  means  of  anonymous  retort.  Yet  we 
have  seen  no  critiques  of  his  Roman  laj'S  bearing  the 
signs  of  malice  or  revenge.  A  few  parodies  and  buffoon- 
eries, of  the  most  harmless  nature,  were  all  that  he  had 
to  bear. 

The  merits  of  Macaulay's  poetry  are  similar  to  his 
prose,  except  that  his  verse  is  characterized  by  more 
imagination.  The  same  living  energy  animates  both. 
He  is  a  man  of  the  most  extensive  acquirements,  possess- 
ing the  power  of  representing  his  knowledge  in  magnifi- 
cent pictures.  He  has  a  quick  sympathy  with  whatever 
addresses  the  passions  and  the  fancy,  and  a  truly  mascu- 
line mind.  His  style  alternates  between  copiousness  and 
condensation,  and  the  transitions  are  contrived  with  con- 
summate skill.  The  most  brilliant  and  rapid  of  all 
contemporary  writers,  his  poetry  is  an  array  of  strong 
thoughts  and  glittering  fancies  bounding  along  on  a 
rushing  stream  of  feeling.  It  has  almost  the  appear- 
ance of  splendid  impromptu  composition.  The  "  Lay  " 
of  "  Virginia  "  contains  some  exquisite  delineations  of 
the  affections,  full  of  natural  pathos  and  a  certain  serene 
beauty,  somewhat  different  from  Macaulay's  usual  mar- 
tial tone.  From  Mr.  Gris wold's  volume  we  select  a 
piece,  which  has  never  been  included  in  the  editions  of 
his  writings.  It  shows  not  only  a  most  minute  knowl- 
edge of  history,  but  an  insight  into  the  very  spirit  of  the 
time  to  which  it  refers.  The  verse  has  a  dashing,  reck- 
less, godless  march,  entirely  in  character  with  the  feel- 
ing expressed.  Prince  Rupert's  fiery  dragoons  would 
have  sung  it  con  amore. 

"THE  CAVALIER'S  MARCH  TO  LONDON. 

"  To  horse  !  to  horse  !  brave  cavaliers  I 
To  horse  for  church  aud  crowa  V 


V>8  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

Strike,  strike  your  tents  !  snatch  up  your  speari 

And  ho  for  London  town  ! 
The  imperial  harlot,  doomed  a  prey 

To  our  avenging  fires, 
Sends  up  the  voice  of  her  dismay 

From  all  her  hundred  spires. 

"  The  Strand  resounds  with  maidens'  shrieks, 

The  'Change  with  merchants'  sighs, 
And  blushes  stand  on  brazen  cheeks, 

And  tears  in  iron  eyes  ; 
And,  pale  with  fasting  and  with  fright, 

Each  Puritan  committee 
Hath  summoned  forth  to  prayer  and  fight 

The  Roundheads  of  the  city. 

"  And  soon  shall  London's  sentries  hear 

The  thunder  of  our  drum, 
And  London's  dames,  in  wilder  fear, 

Shall  cry,  Alack  !     They  come  ! 
Fling  the  fascines  ;  —  tear  up  the  spikes  ; 

And  forward,  one  and  all  ; 
Down,  down  with  all  their  train-band  pikes, 

Down  with  their  mud-built  wall ! 

"  Quarter  ?  —  Foul  fall  your  whining  noise. 

Ye  recreant  spawn  of  fraud  ! 
No  quarter!     Think  on  Straflibrd,  boys. 

No  quarter!     Think  on  Laud. 
What  ho  !     The  craven  slaves  retire. 

On  !     Trample  them  to  mud  ! 
No  quarter  !  Charge.  —  No  quarter  !    Fire. 

No  quarter  !    Blood  !  blood !  blood  !  — 

"Where  next?    In  sooth,  there  lacks  no  witch, 

Brave  lads,  to  tell  us  where, 
Sure  London's  sons  be  passing  rich, 

Her  daughters  wondrous  fair  : 
And  let  that  dastard  be  the  theme 

Of  many  a  board's  derision, 
Who  quails  for  sermon,  cuff,  or  scream, 

Of  any  sweet  precisian. 


SNGLISn    rOETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH    CENTURY.    359 

"  Their  lean  divines,  of  solemn  brow, 

Sworn  foes  to  ihrone  and  steeple, 
From  an  unwonted  pulpit  now 

Shall  edify  the  people  ; 
Till  the  tired  hangman,  in  despair, 

Shall  curse  his  blunted  shears, 
And  vainly  pinch,  and  scrape  and  tear, 

Around  their  leathern  ears. 

"  We  '11  hang,  above  his  own  Guildhall, 

The  city's  grave  Recorder, 
And  on  the  den  of  thieves  we  'II  fall, 

Though  Pyin  should  speak  to  order. 
In  vain  the  lank-haired  gang  shall  try 

To  cheat  our  martial  law  ; 
In  vain  shall  Lenthall  trembling  cry 

That  strangers  must  withdraw. 

'Of  bench  and  woolsack,  tub  and  chair, 

We  'II  build  a  glorious  pyre, 
And  tons  of  rebel  parchment  there 

Shall  crackle  in  the  fire. 
With  them  shall  perish,  cheek  by  jowl. 

Petition,  psalm,  and  libel, 
The  colonel's  canting  muster-roll. 

The  chaplain's  dog-eared  Bible. 

"  We  '11  tread  a  measure  round  the  blaze 

Where  England's  pest  expires. 
And  lead  along  the  dance's  maze 

The  beauties  of  the  friars  : 
Then  smiles  in  every  face  shall  shine, 

And  joy  in  every  soul. 
Bring  forth,  bring  forth  the  oldest  wine. 

And  crown  the  largest  bowl ! 

"  And  as  with  nod  and  laugh  ye  sip 
The  goblet's  rich  carnation, 
Whose  bursting  bubbles  seem  to  tip 

The  wink  of  invitation. 
Drink  to  those  names,  —  those  glorious  naniM,  — 

Those  names  no  time  shall  sever,  — 
Drink,  in  a  draught  as  deep  as  Thames, 
Our  church  and  king  forever!  " 


•^60  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

The  poetry  of  the  nineteenth  century  boasts  more 
eminent  women  among  its  votaries  than  that  of  any 
other  age.  Among  them  Felicia  Hemans,  one  of  the 
best  of  her  sex,  enjoys  preeminent  popularity.  Her 
poems  are  pure  and  sweet,  dealing  with  the  affections 
rather  than  the  passions,  and  characterized  throughout 
by  an  indescribable  tone  of  holiness.  She  possessed  a 
fine  perception  of  moral  beauty,  and  a  rich  fancy ;  but 
her  writings  are  deficient  in  powerful  imagination,  except 
in  some  splendid  passages.  To  enjoy  her  poetry,  but 
little  should  be  read  at  a  time.  It  cloys  with  sweetness 
and  tires  with  harmony.  There  is  a  serene  beauty  in 
her  delineations  of  life  and  nature,  eminently  calculated 
to  purify  the  affections,  and  introduce  a  habit  of  thought- 
fulness  into  the  mind ;  but  they  do  not  evince  large 
mental  resources.  Two  thirds  of  her  writings  are 
repetitions  of  herself.  They  enfeeble  when  taken  in 
immoderate  quantities.  The  pensive  sadness  diffused 
through  them,  when  dwelt  upon  at  too  much  length,  is 
liable  to  make  the  soul  daintily  good,  and  sentimentally 
virtuous.  She  saw  life  through  a  medium  of  womanly 
sentiment,  by  which  all  her  perceptions  were  uncon- 
sciously colored.  Though  individual,  her  individuality 
was  neither  broad  nor  intense.  After  all  abatements, 
however,  from  the  extravagant  eulogies  of  her  admirers, 
she  must  be  allowed  to  possess  a  rare  and  truly  feminine 
nature,  endowed  with  uncommon  refinement  of  thpught 
and  feeling,  and  to  have  written  poetry  of  much  origi- 
nality and  oeauty. 

We  have  no  space  to  do  justice  to  Joanna  Baillie, 
whose  mind  occupies  a  neutral  station  between  the  mas- 
culine and  feminine,  with  some  of  the  best  qualities  of 
both.     Her  dramas  are  amona:  the  most  excellent  written 


ENGLIiH    POETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH    CENTURY.    361 

since  the  Elizabethan  period,  and  display  much  compre 
hension.  Letitia  E.  Landon,  the  pet  of  young  ladies, 
wrote  heaps  of  fanciful  and  passionate  verse,  with 
remarkable  fluency  and  sameness  of  tone.  It  tells  the 
old  story  of  love  and  sorrow.  Mrs.  Norton,  a  woman 
of  far  higher  order  of  mind,  and  greater  depth  of  sensi- 
bility, and  whose  life  has  been  tried  by  calamity  and 
suffering,  takes  a  high  rank  among  the  second  class  of 
poets.  Her  genius  has  some  points  in  common  with  that 
of  Byron.  Much  of  her  poetry  has  been  inspired  by 
individual  experience  of  woe  and  wrong,  and  possesses  a 
deep  subjective  character.  She  has  a  fine  feeling  for 
the  beautiful,  and  much  graceful  facility  of  elegant 
expression.  The  poem  called  "  Recollections,"  and  the 
dedication  of  "  The  Dream,"  are  among  her  most  char- 
acteristic productions.  Mary  Russell  Mitford,  the 
kind-hearted  and  clear-headed  author  of  "Our  Village," 
has  written  two  or  three  tragedies,  containing  much 
eloquent  writing.  "  Rienzi "  is  a  very  good  dramatic 
poem,  with  several  passages  of  exceedingly  nervous 
declamation.  Miss  Mitford,  however,  is  best  known  by 
her  sketches  of  country  life,  which,  inimitable  of  their 
kind,  have  found  readers  all  over  the  world,  and  con- 
verted every  reader  into  a  friend.  Her  humor  and 
pathos,  as  displayed  in  these,  are  exquisitely  fine  and 
feminine ;  and  "  Our  Village  "  is  a  permanent  addition 
to  one  of  the  most  beautiful  departments  of  English 
literature. 

But  probably  the  greatest  female  poet  that  England 
has  ever  produced,  and  one  of  the  most  unreadable,  is 
Elizabeth  B.  Barrett.  In  the  works  of  no  woman 
have  we  ever  observed  so  much  grandeur  of  imagination, 
disguised,  as  it  is,  in  an   elaborately  infelicitous  style. 


362  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

She  has  a  large  heart  and  a  large  brain  ;  but  many  of 
her  thoughts  are  hooded  eagles.  That  a  woman  of  such 
varied  acquirements,  of  so  much  delicacy  of  sentiment 
and  depth  of  feeling,  of  so  much  holiness  and  elevation 
of  thought,  possessing,  too,  an  imagination  of  such 
shaping  power  and  piercing  vision,  should  not  consent 
always  to  write  English,  should  often  consent  to  manu- 
facture a  barbarous  jargon  compounded  of  all  languages, 
is  a  public  calamity.  "  The  Cry  of  the  Human,"  to 
her,  is,  "  Be  more  intelligible."  The  scholar  who  was 
in  the  custom  of  "  unbending  himself  over  the  lighter 
mathematics  "  might  find  an  agreeable  recreation  in  Miss 
Barrett's  abstruse  windings  of  thought,  and  terrible  pha- 
lanxes of  Greek  and  German  expressions.  A  number 
of  her  poems  are  absolutely  good  for  nothing,  from  their 
harshness  and  obscurity  of  language.  Her  mind  has 
taken  its  tone  and  character  from  the  study  of  JEschylus, 
Milton,  and  the  Hebrew  poets ;  and  she  is  more  familiar 
with  them  than  with  the  world.  Vast  and  vague  imag- 
inations, excited  by  such  high  communion,  float  duskily 
before  her  mind,  and  she  mutters  mysteriously  of  their 
majestic  presence ;  but  she  does  not  always  run  them 
into  intelligible  form.  We  could  understand  this,  if  she 
displayed  any  lack,  on  other  occasions,  of  high  imagina- 
tion; but  her  frequent  inexpressiveness  is  a  voluntary 
offering  on  the  altar  of  obscurity.  "  We  understand  a 
fury  in  the  words,  but  not  the  words."  In  one  of  her 
sonnets,  "  The  Soul's  Expression,"  we  are  made  ac- 
quainted with  her  condition  of  mind,  when  she  wishes  to 
utter  her  deep  imaginings.  Nothing  could  better  repre- 
sent a  heart  possessed  by  the  mightiest  poetic  feeling 
yet  awed  before  its  own  mystical  emotions.  It  is  tha 
Boul  "  falling  away  from  the  imagination." 


ENGLISH     POETS    OF    THE    NINETEENTH    CENTURY.     363 

"THE  SOUL'S  EXPRESSION. 

*'  VVilh  staiiimeriiig  lips,  and  iusuffRicut  sound, 
I  strive  and  sirugjjle  to  dflivcr  right 
That  music  of  my  nature,  day  and  night 
Both  dream,  and  thoujjlit,  and  feeling  interwound, 
And  inly  answering  all  the  senses  round 
With  octaves  of  a  mystic  depth  and  height, 
Which  step  out  grandly  to  the  infinite 
From  the  dark  edges  of  the  sensual  ground  ! 
This  song  of  soul  I  struggle  to  oulbear 
Through  portals  of  the  sense,  sublime  and  whole 
And  utter  all  myself  into  the  air  — 

But  if  I  did  it,  —  as  the  thunder-roil  ^ 

Breaks  its  own  cloud  —  my  flesh  would  perish  there. 
Before  that  dread  apocalypse  of  soul." 

Miss  Barrett's  genius,  though  subjective  in  its  general 
character,  is  of  considerable  range.  She  is  especially 
powerful  in  dealing  witli  the  affections.  Her  religious 
poetry  is  characterized  by  a  most  intense  and  solemn 
reverence  for  divine  thintrs,  and  often  swells  into  maGr- 
nificent  bursts  of  rapture  and  adoration.  Her  feeling  for 
humanity  is  deep  and  tender,  and  she  has  a  warm  sym- 
pathy with  its  wants  and  immunities.  Her  sonnets, 
though  of  various  degrees  of  merit,  and  some  of  them 
crabbed  in  their  versification,  have  generally  a  rough 
grandeur  which  is  very  imposing.  "  The  Drama  of 
Exile,"  though  teeming  with  faults,  has  noble  traits  of 
intellect  and  passion,  which  no  faults  can  conceal. 
Many  of  her  minor  pieces  show  a  most  delicate  percep- 
tion of  beauty  and  sentiment,  expressed  with  much 
simplicity  and  melody  of  style. 

P.  J.  Bailey,  the  author  of  "  Festus,"  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  men  among  the  poets  of  the  present 
century.  His  egotism  almost  approaches  that  point  of 
the  sublime  where  it  topples   over  into  the  ridiculous. 


364  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

He  chooijes  the  most  lofty  subjects,  without  seeming  td 
doubt  his  capacity  to  grapple  with  their  mysteries.  He 
plagiarizes  from  authors  whose  names  he  would  not  con- 
descend to  mention.  He  hardly  realizes  the  existence 
of  others,  except  so  far  as  they  are  related  to  himself. 
In  "  Festus "  he  displays  at  times  a  certain  "  lust  of 
power,  a  hunger  and  thirst  after  unrighteousness,  a  glow 
of  imagination  unhallowed  save  by  its  own  energies," 
which  well  indicates  the  element  of  daring  in  which  his 
nature  moves.  To  most  readers,  the  poem  would  appear 
a  monstrous  compound  of  blasphemy  and  licentiousness. 
Though  evincing  power,  and  variety  of  power,  it  excites 
the  most  wonder  from  its  disregard  of  all  the  moral, 
religious,  and  artistical  associations  of  others.  Panthe- 
ism and  fatalism,  in  their  most  objectionable  forms,  are 
inculcated  as  absolute  truth.  The  two  flaming  ideas  in 
his  mind  are  God  and  Lucifer.  One  of  his  scenes 
occurs  "  Anywhere,"  and  another  "Everywhere."  The 
merest  commonplaces  of  antagonistical  systems  of  philos- 
ophy and  religion  are  all  mingled  together  in  the  chaos 
of  his  theory.  Occasionally  all  regard  for  the  proprie- 
ties of  the  diabolic  is  eschewed.  The  devil  falls  vio- 
lently in  love  in  one  place  ;  and  in  another  scolds  the 
damned  like  a  Billingsgate  fish-woman.  He  reproves 
his  friends  for  laziness,  telling  them  that  they  do  not 
earn  enough  to  pay  for  the  fire  that  burns  them  up. 
Human  passions  and  human  ideas  Bailey  continually 
blends  with  things  superhuman  and  divine.  Doctrines  of 
the  most  monstrous  import,  and  doctrines  of  the  utmost 
purity  and  holiness,  so  follow  each  other,  that  the  author 
evidently  notices  no  discord  in  their  connection.  He  can 
delineate  the  passion  of  love  with  great  refinement,  with- 
out seeming  to  distinguish  it  from  the  most  unhallowed 


ENGUSH  POETS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTTTKy.      365 

ust.  If  he  be  not  mad,  it  is  certain  that  all  the  rest  of 
file  world  are.  To  accept  the  poem  of  "Festus"  as  the 
product  of  a  sane  mind,  would  be  to  declare  all  other 
literature  superficial,  and  P.  J.  Bailey  the  most  miracu- 
lously gifted  of  created  men.  Its  madness  is  not  alto- 
gether fine  madness,  but  half  comes  from  Parnassus  and 
tlie  rest  from  Bedlam.  It  is  the  madness  of  a  mind 
unable  accurately  to  distinguish  the  moral  and  intellect- 
ual differences  of  things. 

The  interest  of  the  poem  arises  from  its  intensity  of 
sensibility,  its  affluence  of  fancy,  and  occasional  power 
of  imagination.  Numerous  passages  might  be  selected 
of  the  greatest  beauty  and  majesty.  The  author's  in- 
sight into  particular  truths  is  often  very  acute,  and  his 
command  of  expression  seemingly  despotic.  He  has  no 
fear  of  startling  his  reader  with  a  grotesque  image,  or  a 
strange  verbal  combination,  or  downright  bombast  and 
buffoonery.  So  intense  and  lofty  is  his  egotism,  that  he 
seems  to  think  all  minds  will  bend  their  tastes  and  their 
common  sense  to  him.  He  ends  his  poem,  at  the  age  of 
twenty -three,  with  saying,  "  Take  it,  world."  He  swag- 
gers and  bullies  his  readers  into  panegyric.  There  is  no 
instance  in  English  literature  of  so  much  self-exagger- 
9.tion  on  the  part  of  any  author  untrammelled  by  a  strait- 
jacket.  The  poem  indicates  the  last  result  of  the  "  Sa- 
tanic School,"  in  the  triumph  of  sensibility  over  reason, 
A.  German  prince,  whose  taste  was  of  the  "  classical  " 
order,  once  said,  that  if  he  were  the  Almighty,  and  could 
have  foreseen  before  creating  the  world  that  Schiller's 
'*  Robbers  "  would  have  been  written  in  it,  that  alone 
would  have  prevented  him  from  creating  the  world. 
What  this  gentleman  would  have  said  of  Bai/fey's  "  Fes- 
tus," it  would  task  exaggeration  itself  to  tell. 


366  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

Amidst  the  chaos  of  this  work,  are  passages  of  great 
grandeur  and  beauty.  The  intense  seriousness  of  the 
author  gives  to  the  whole  a  character  of  sincerity,  which 
redeems  it  from  the  charge  of  intentional  irreverence  or 
immorality.  We  quote  a  few  of  Mr.  Griswold's  extracts 
from  the  poem,  in  partial  illustration  of  its  spirit  and 
power. 

FESTUS  DESCRIBES    HIS    FRIEND. 

"  He  had  no  time  to  study,  and  no  place  ; 
All  places  and  all  times  to  him  were  one. 
His  soul  was  like  the  wind-harp,  which  he  loved, 
And  sounded  only  when  the  spirit  blew  ; 
Sometimes  in  feasts  and  follies,  for  he  went 
Life-like  through  all  things  ;  and  his  thoughts  then  rose 
Like  sparkles  in  the  bright  wine,  brighter  still ; 
Sometimes  in  dreams,  and  then  the  shining  words 
Would  wake  him  in  the  dark  before  his  face. 
All  things  talked  thoughts  to  him.     The  sea  went  maa 
To  show  his  meaning  ;  and  the  awful  sun 
Thundered  his  thoughts  into  him  ;  and  at  night 
The  stars  would  whisper  theirs,  the  moon  sigh  hers ; 
He  spake  the  world's  one  tongue  ;  in  earth  and  heaven 
There  is  but  one,  it  is  the  word  of  truth." 

ANGELA. 

"  I  loved  her,  for  that  she  was  beautiful, 
And  that  to  me  she  seemed  to  be  all  nature 
And  all  varieties  of  things  in  one  ; 
Would  set  at  night  in  clouds  of  tears,  and  rise 
All  light  and  laughter  in  the  moniing  ;  fear 
No  petty  customs  nor  appearances  ; 
But  think  what  others  only  dreamed  about ; 
And  say  what  others  did  but  think  ;  and  do 
What  others  would  but  say  ;  and  glory  in 
What  others  dared  but  do  ;  —  it  was  these  which  won  me ; 
And  that  she  never  schooled  within  her  breast 
One  thought  or  feeling,  but  gave  holiday 


ENGUSH  POETS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.      367 

To  all ;  and  that  she  told  me  all  her  woes 

And  wrongs  and  ills  ;  and  so  she  made  them  mine 

In  the  communion  of  love  ;  and  we 

Grew  like  each  other,  for  we  loved  each  other ; 

She,  mild  and  generous  as  the  sun  in  spring; 

And  I,  like  earth,  all  budding  out  with  love. 

The  beautiful  are  never  desolate  ; 

For  some  one  always  loves  them  —  Grod  or  man. 

If  man  abandons,  God  himself  takes  them. 

And  thus  it  was.    She  whom  I  once  loved  died." 

A  LETTER. 

"When  he  hath  had 
A  letter  from  his  lady  dear,  he  blessed 
The  paper  that  her  hand  had  travelled  over 
And  her  eye  looked  on,  and  would  think  he  saw 
Gleams  of  thai  light  she  lavished  from  her  eyes, 
Wandering  amid  the  words  of  love  she  'd  traced 
Like  glow-worms  among  beds  of  flowers.     He  seemed 
To  bear  with  being  but  because  she  loved  him ; 
She  was  the  sheath  wherein  his  soul  had  rest, 
As  hath  a  sword  from  war." 

THE  END  OF  LIFE. 

"  We  live  in  deeds,  not  years  ;  in  thoughts,  not  breaths  ; 
In  feelings,  not  in  figures  on  a  dial. 
We  should  count  time  by  heart-throbs.     He  most  lives, 
Who  thinks  most ;  feels  the  noblest ;  acts  the  best ; 
And  he  whose  heart  beats  quickest  lives  the  longest ; 
Lives  in  one  hour  more  than  in  years  do  some 
Whose  fat  blood  sleeps  as  it  slips  along  their  veins. 
Life  is  but  a  means  unto  an  end  ;  that  eud. 
Beginning,  mean,  and  end  to  all  things  —  God. 
The  dead  have  all  the  glory  of  the  world." 

We  might  easily  fill  up  this  number  of  our  review  by 
continuing  our  observation  on  individual  poets  in  Mr. 
Griswold's  volume.  In  what  we  have  said,  we  have  not 
aimed  at  any  tliorough  criticism  on  the  poets  we  have 


ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

separately  considered,  but  we  have  merely  thrown  off 
such  observations  on  their  life  and  poetical  character  aa 
were  suggested  by  their  present  relation  to  the  public, 
and  to  current  codes  of  criticism.  Of  course,  in  so  large 
a  tract  of  thought  and  imagination,  variegated  by  so 
many  individualities  of  character,  there  is  room  for  the 
exercise  of  different  opinions.  We  are  sorry  if  ours  have 
been  tainted  with  an  oracular  tone.  The  estimate 
formed  of  a  poet  is  generally  determined  by  the  point 
of  view  from  which  he  is  surveyed.  In  the  survey  of  a 
considerable  number,  there  is  danger  that  we  may  not 
shift  our  position  with  a  change  in  the  objects  to  be  seen. 
Every  original  poet  should  doubtless  be  judged  by  the 
laws  which  inhere  in  his  own  writings,  and  not  by  laws 
evolved  from  other  and  different  writings.  But  it  is 
difficult  to  decide  at  exactly  what  point  a  poet  becomes  a 
law  unto  himself;  and  difficult,  also,  to  estimate  the 
exact  value  of  his  originality,  and  consequently  his 
relative  position  among  men  of  genius,  after  it  is  decided. 
The  poetic  faculty  is  exceedingly  elastic,  and  all  its 
manifestations  in  individuals  cannot  be  included  in  a 
general  criticism.  In  poems  of  moderate  merit,  we  are 
occasionally  struck  with  fine  imaginations,  which  seem 
to  give  the  lie  to  the  charge  of  mediocrity.  After  a 
critic  has  most  painfully  elaborated  his  opinion  of  an 
author,  any  tyro  can  quote  lines  or  passages  which 
seem  to  conflict  with  it.  From  the  extreme  sensitive- 
nes;  of  the  imagination,  a  poet  of  small  original  capacity 
sometimes  catches  the  tone  of  the  great  authors  he  has 
read,  and  by  blending  it  with  what  individuality  of 
thought  and  feeling  there  is  in  him,  often  contrives  to 
puzzle  reviewers  and  delude  readers.  In  a  literature  like 
that  of  the  present  century,  in  which  sensibility  and  per- 


ENGLISH    POETS   OF   THE    NINETEENTH   CENTURY.      369 

Eonal  feeling  are  such  prominent  elements,  imitators  are 
more  likely  to  make  a  respectable  show  than  if  they 
copied  from  Spenser  or  Pope.  A  few  grains  of  fancy, 
whirled  about  in  a  gust  of  simulated  passion,  will  often 
pass  as  poetry.  Many  of  the  deep  and  delicate  imagin- 
ations which  Wordsworth  and  Shelley  originated  have 
now  become  common  property,  and  are  reproduced  in 
common  poems.  The  spirit  of  both  colors  the  thoughts  of 
many  poets,  who,  without  being  deficient  in  genius,  have 
still  looked  at  man  and  nature,  not  with  their  own  eyes, 
but  with  those  of  the  poets  whose  genius  has  conquered 
theirs.  In  this  blending  of  minds,  our  object  should  be 
to  discriminate  between  what  the  disciple  has  obtained 
from  the  master,  and  what  he  has  added  to  the  master. 
According  to  the  force  of  being  which  a  poet  possesses, 
will  be  his  resistance  of  influences  coining  from  other 
minds.  Many  of  the  poets  from  whom  Mr.  Griswold  has 
selected  have  more  of  the  repeater  than  the  creator.  In 
others  there  is  a  mingling  of  what  has  grown  up  in  their 
minds  with  what  has  been  caught  from  other  minds. 
Consequently,  in  reading  a  volume  with  so  many  claim- 
ants on  our  attention,  it  is  important  to  keep  in  view  the 
character  and  spirit  of  the  originating  intellects,  in  order 
rightly  to  dispose  the  others  in  the  sliding-scale  of  merit. 
In  reviewing  so  many  poets  in  succession,  a  critic  must 
consider  their  relative  as  well  as  intrinsic  excellence ; 
and  in  doing  this  he  is  ever  liable  to  disappoint  the 
admirers  of  each. 

With  all  abatements,  however,  no  one  can  glance  at 
Mr.  Griswold's  volume  without  being  impressed  with  the 
fertility  of  ti  e  present  century  in  original  poetry.  There 
is  one  view  in  which  the  editor  of  a  work  like  the  present 
may  be  considered  fortunate.  Through  his  diligent  labors 
24 


370  ESSAVS    AND    REVIEWS, 

large  bodies  of  the  people,  who  cannot  or  will  not  read 
extensively,  are  enabled  to  obtain  an  image  of  the  imag- 
inative literature  of  a  great  age.  And  what  a  world  of 
thought  and  feeling  does  its  contemplation  reveal  to  us ! 
Here  are  garnered  up  chronicles  of  the  insight  and  ex- 
perience of  highly-gifted  natures,  many  of  them  sorely 
tried  by  sorrow  and  temptation,  and  uttering  words  of 
profoundest  meaning  while  bending  beneath  the  burden 
of  actual  life.  Here  flame  the  woes  and  wrongs  that 
stung  their  spirits ;  here  shine  the  majestic  and  enno- 
bling thoughts  by  which  calamity  was  consecrated.  Here 
Passion  revels  in  fantasies  of  maddening  beauty ;  here 
the  unselfish  affections  beam  on  our  souls  in  the  softest 
and  most  witching  hues  of  fancy ;  here  Imagination 
illumines  the  page  with  light  from  heaven,  and  sheds  on 
the  hut  and  the  palace  a  glory  not  of  earth ;  here 
Religion  beckons  to  the  skies.  Love  is  here ;  Love, 
"  whose  familiar  voice  wearies  not  ever,"  speaking  a 
language  which 

"  Trembles  and  sparkles  as  with  ecstasy ;  " 

and  here  are  suffering  and  pain  and  death.  Wise  words 
are  here ;  words  which  "  beacon  the  rocks  on  which  high 
hearts  are  wrecked  " — which  bear  messages  of  measure- 
less import  to  thrill  the  soul  v/ith  gladness,  or  awe  it  into 
meekness  —  which  teach  the  awful  significance  of  God's 
handwriting  on  the  heart.  All  grades  of  beauty  are  here, 
from  the  sylvan  quiet  of  pastoral  scenery  to  the  "tem- 
pestuous loveliness  of  terror,"  —  all  aspects  of  sorrow, 
from  the  most  pensive  melancholy  to  that  agony  and 
anguish  which  cries  aloud  in  bitterness  of  spirit.  The 
veil  which  conceals  the  workings  of  powerful  but  per- 
verted hearts    is    rent ;    and  we  gaze  with   shuddering 


ENGLISH    POETS   OF    TUE    NINETEENTH    CENTDRy.    371 

Interest  into  the  chaotic  depths  of  passion,  wrought  into 
consuming  intensity  by  maddening  calamities.  That  a 
poetry  so  various,  so  "  rammed  with  life,"  must  contain 
much  exaggerated  representation,  much  false  and  morbid 
feeling,  much  varnishing  of  vice  and  beautifying  of  cor- 
ruption, is  true ;  but  then  it  contains  much  more  to 
purify  and  exalt ;  to  give  us  knowledge  and  power ;  to 
infuse  into  our  souls  a  thirst  to  promote  human  liberty 
and  happiness  ;  to  make  us  feel  the  holiness  of  disinter- 
ested affection ;  to  kindle  in  our  hearts  a  passionate  love 
for  all  that  is  beautiful  and  good  ;  to  lift  our  thoughts  into 
serener  regions  of  existence  than  actual  life  furnishes ; 
to  fill  our  imaginations  with  images  of  loveliness  and 
grandeur,  which  shall  solace  disappointment  and  people 
solitude ;  to  enable  us  to  interpret  aright  the  sublime 
language,  written  all  over  the  universe,  in  which  nature 
teaches  her  lessons  of  wisdom  and  power ;  and  to  pene- 
trate our  whole  being  with  an  intense  enthusiasm  for 
virtue  and  truth,  which  shall  bear  the  soul  bravely  up 
amid  the  coldness  and  baseness  of  the  world,  and  inspire 
it  with  a  lofty  confidence  in  those  eternal  realities,  before 
which  all  the  world's  games  and  gauds  shrivel  into  ashes. 


SOUTH'S    SERMONS.* 

No  explorer  of  the  thorny  tracts  of  theology  can  ever 
forget  his  exhilaration  of  spirit  on  first  reading  the  ser- 
mons of  Dr,  South,  the  shrewdest,  sharpest,  bitterest, 
and  wittiest  of  English  divines.  His  character,  formed 
by  a  -curious  interpenetration  of  strong  prejudices  and 
great  powers,  and  colored  by  the  circumstances  of  his 
age  and  position,  is  one  of  the  most  peculiar  in  English 
literature,  and,  as  displayed  in  his  works,  repays  the 
most  assiduous  study.  In  some  points  he  reminds  us 
of  Sydney  Smith,  though  distinguished  from  him  by 
many  striking  individual  traits,  and  utterly  opposed  to 
him  in  political  sentiment  and  principle.  He  is  a  grand 
specimen  of  the  old  tory ;  and  he  enforced  his  toryism 
with  a  courage,  heartiness,  and  wealth  of  intellectual 
resources,  to  which  the  warmest  radical  could  hardly 
refuse  admiration  and  respect. 

South  was  bom  in  1633.  He  was  the  son  of  an  emi- 
nent London  merchant.  In  1647,  he  was  admitted  a 
king's  scholar  at  Westminster,  at  the  period  when  Dr. 
Busby  was  master  of  the  school.  On  the  day  of  the 
execution  of  King  Charles  the  First,  or,  to  use  his  own 
words,  "  on  that  black  and  eternally  infamous  day  of  the 

*  Sermons  preached  upon  several  Occasions.  By  Robert  South,  D.D., 
Prebendary  of  Westminster,  and  Canon  of  Christ's  Church,  Oxford.  A  new 
edition,  including  the  Po.ithumous  Discourses.  Philadelphia:  Soriii  &  Ball. 
4  vols.     8vo.  —  North  American  Review,  October,  1846. 


south's  sermons.  373 

king-'s  murder,  an  hour  or  two  before  his  sacred  head 
was  cut  off,"  the  Doctor  prayed  for  the  king  by  name, 
while  reading  Latin  prayers  at  the  school.  In  1651,  ho 
entered  Oxford,  at  the  same  time  that  John  Locke  was 
admitted,  —  the  future  champion  of  the  divine  right  of 
kings,  in  company  with  the  future  champion  of  freedom. 
In  1655,  he  took  his  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts,  and 
wrote  a  copy  of  Latin  verses  congratulating  Cromwel. 
on  the  peace  made  with  the  Dutch.  Although  this  was 
a  college  exercise,  and  the  theme  probably  selected  for 
him,  and  not  by  him,  it  must  have  been  a  most  galling 
recollection,  in  after  years,  when  he  was  \\Titing  down 
the  great  Protector  as  an  "  execrable  monster,"  and  com- 
paring him  to  Baal  and  Beelzebub.  At  college  he  seems 
to  have  been  a  severe  student,  both  in  the  acquisition  of 
knowledge  and  in  the  training  of  his  faculties  for  the 
gladiatorial  contests  of  professional  life.  He  was  ordained 
by  one  of  the  deprived  bishops  in  1658 ;  and  soon  won 
the  good-will  of  the  Presbyterians  by  a  sermon  directed 
against  the  Independents.  In  1660,  he  was  made  Uni- 
versity Orator,  and  in  July  of  the  same  year,  he  preached 
his  celebrated  discourse,  "  The  Scribe  Instructed,"  before 
the  king's  commissioners,  \.-ho  met  at  Oxford  soon  after 
the  restoration,  for  the  visitation  of  the  University. 
South  at  this  time  was  twenty-seven  years  old  ;  and  the 
sermon,  in  respect  to  style,  arrangement,  and  strength 
of  intellect  and  character,  is  one  of  his  greatest  and  most 
characteristic  productions,  and  indicates  both  the  bias 
and  energy  of  his  mind.  It  especially  displays  that 
masterly  arrangement  of  his  matter,  that  thorough  com- 
prehension of  his  subject,  and  that  vitality  and  vividness 
of  expression,  which  have  given  his  sermons  with  sora» 
a  place  in  literature  even  higher  than  in  divinity. 


374  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

The  object  of  the  discourse  is  to  set  forth  the  qualifi- 
cations of  the  Christian  preacher,  and  to  show  by  ridicule 
and  argument  the  absurdity  and  wickedness  involved  in 
assuming  to  be  a  minister  of  the  word  without  competent 
ability,  knowledge,  and  preparation.  He  especially  in- 
sists on  intellectual  qualifications,  and  their  improvement 
by  habitual  exercise.  Defining  divinity  as  "  a  doctrine 
treating  of  the  nature,  attributes,  and  works  of  the  great 
God,  as  he  stands  related  to  rational  creatures,  and  the 
way  how  rational  creatures  may  serve,  worship,  and 
enjoy  him,"  he  asks  if  a  doctrine  of  that  "  depth,  that 
height,  that  vast  compass,  grasping  within  it  all  the 
perfections  and  dimensions  of  human  science,  does  not 
worthily  claim  all  the  preparations  whereby  the  wit  and 
industry  of  man  can  fit  him  for  it  ? ''  He  opposes  levity 
and  stupidity  as  the  two  faults  of  most  sermon-mongers, 
—  those  who  put  their  prayers  '.n  such  a  dress  as  if  they 
did  not  "  supplicate,  but  cor.ipliment  Almighty  God," 
and  those  who  lie  "grovelling  on  the  ground  with  a  dead 
and  contemptible  flatness,"  passing  off  dulness  as  a  mark 
of  regeneration.  The  most  splendid  part  of  the  sermon 
is  the  passage  relating  to  the  eloquence  of  the  Bible,  in 
which  South  enforces  the  duty  of  the  minister  to  employ 
rich  and  significant  expression  in  conveying  the  truths 
of  the  Gospel.  As  he  fears  that  this  may  bring  down 
the  opposition  of  such  as  call  speaking  "  coherently  upon 
iny  sacred  subject  an  offering  of  strange  fire,  and  account 
the  being  pertinent  even  the  next  door  to  the  being  pro- 
fane," he  adduces  Scripture  authority  for  magnificence 
of  language,  and  boldly  pronounces  the  Bible  a  system 
of  the  best  rhetoric,  as  well  as  a  body  of  religion.  "  As 
the  highest  things,"  he  says,  "  require  the  highest  ex- 
prei',sions,  so  we  shall  find  nothing  in  Scripture  so  high 


south's  sermons.  375 

in  itself,  but  it  is  reached,  and  sometimes  overtopped,  by 
the  sublimity  of  the  expression." 

The  passions  he  deems  to  have  been  more  power- 
fully described  by  the  Hebrew  than  the  heathen  poets. 
"  Where  do  we  read,"  he  asks,  "  such  strange  risings  and 
fallings,  now  the  faintings  and  languishings,  now  the 
terrors  of  astonishment,  venting  themselves  in  such  high 
amazing  strains,  as  in  Psalm  Ixxvii.  ?  Or  where  did  we 
ever  find  sorrow  flowing  forth  in  such  a  natural  prevail- 
ing pathos  as  in  the  lamentations  of  Jeremy  ?  One 
would  think  that  every  letter  was  written  with  a  tear, 
every  word  was  the  noise  of  a  breaking  heart ;  that  the 
author  was  a  man  compacted  of  sorrows,  disciplined  to 
grief  from  his  infancy,  —  one  who  never  breathed  but  in 
sighs,  nor  spoke  but  in  a  groan."  He  pounces  upon 
Politian,  for  saying  that  he  abstained  from  reading  the 
Scriptures,  for  fear  they  would  spoil  his  style,  and  calls 
him  a  blockhead  as  well  as  an  atheist,  —  one  who  had 
"  as  small  a  gust  for  the  elegances  of  expression  as  the 
sacredness  of  the  matier."  There  are  few  clerg>'men 
who  would  not  find  the  reading  of  this  sermon  profitable, 
and  few  parishioners  who  would  not  be  grateful  if  its 
advice  were  followed. 

No  one  could  have  heard  or  read  this  discourse  with- 
out perceiving  that  a  powerful  and  daring  character  was 
rising  in  the  church,  —  one  who  could  enforce  and  defend 
her  doctrines  and  discipline  \vith  all  the  energy  of  a 
fanatic,  and  all  the  acuteness  of  a  philosopher.  South 
was  soon  after  made  domestic  chaplain  to  Clarendon. 
In  January,  1662-3,  he  preached  before  King  Charles 
the  Second,  at  Whitehall,  on  occasion  of  the  anniversary 
of  the  "  execrable  murder  of  King  Charles  the  First,  of 
glorious  memory,"  his  celebrated  sermon,  "  Pretence  ol 


376  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

Conscience  no  Excuse  for  Rebellion."  This  is  a  perfect 
shriek  of  loyalty ;  and  although  South's  discourses  are 
all  more  or  less  sprinkled  with  bitter  allusions  to  the 
political  and  religious  conduct  of  the  parliamentarians, 
it  is  in  this  sermon  that  his  zeal  and  rage  rise  to  their 
most  portentous  excesses.  He  loses  here  that  quiet  com- 
mand of  his  hatred  which  makes  the  gibes  and  jests 
directed  against  the  Puritans  in  "  The  Scribe  Instructed  " 
so  galling  and  effective.  He  dedicates  the  sermon  to  the 
"  never-dying  memory  "  of  Charles  the  First,  and  adds, 
as  a  precious  piece  of  history,  that  he  was  "  causelessly 
rebelled  against,  inhumanly  imprisoned,  and  at  length 
barbarously  murdered  before  the  gates  of  his  own  palace, 
by  the  worst  of  men  and  the  most  obliged  of  subjects." 

The  sermon  itself  is  well  worthy  of  the  dedication. 
The  fiery  spirit  of  the  preacher  throws  oflf  at  times  splen- 
did specimens  of  vehement  rhetoric, 

"  that  bound  and  blaze  along  * 

Their  devious  course,  magnificently  wrong  ;" 

but  the  whole  sermon  seems  at  this  day  rather  a  carica- 
ture than  a  panegyric  of  the  monarch  ;  —  a  man  sedu- 
lous of  propriety  rather  than  virtue,  whose  misfortune  it 
was  to  embody  all  the  characteristics  of  political  crime 
but  its  energies,  and  who,  in  his  dealings  with  his  adver- 
saries, trusted  to  systematic  falsehood  as  the  means  by 
which  in  the  end  he  could  "  feed  fat  the  hungry  grudges 
of  his  smiling  rancor  and  his  cringing  pride."  Charles 
is  here  represented,  or  rather  misrepresented,  as  the  per- 
fection of  kings  and  men.  South  tells  us  that  he  was  a 
David,  a  saint,  a  king.  He  had  so  many  excellences, 
that  he  would  have  deserved  a  kingdom,  had  he  not 
inherit*'«l  one      His  genius  was  so  controlling,  that  in 


south's  sermons.  377 

every  science  he  attempted  he  did  not  so  much  study 
as  reign.  His  writings  have  such  a  commanding  and 
majestic  pathos,  that  they  seem  to  have  been  written 
with  a  sceptre  instead  of  a  pen.  He  was  pious  beyond 
expression  ;  as  eminent  for  frequenting  the  temple  as 
Solomon  was  for  building  one ;  could  defend  his  religion 
as  a  king,  dispute  for  it  as  a  divine,  and  die  for  it  as  a 
martyr.  If  ever  the  lion  and  the  lamb  dwelt  together,  il 
was  in  his  royal  breast.  He  was,  indeed,  a  prince  whose 
virtues  were  as  prodigious  as  his  sufferings,  and  "  a 
father  of  his  country,  if  but  for  this  only,  that  he  was 
the  father  of  such  a  son."  It  is  but  justice  to  say  that 
Charles  the  Second  had  not  at  this  time  fully  developed 
his  large  capacities  for  knavery  and  licentiousness,  nor 
attempted  to  barter  away  the  rights  and  interests  of  his 
people  to  pay  the  expenses  of  his  debaucheries. 

The  persons  who  arrayed  themselves  against  Charles 
the  First  were,  we  are  told,  the  most  unnatural  of  trai- 
tors. In  the  first  stage  of  their  rebellion,  they  invented 
the  "  covenant,"  like  those  who  are  said  to  have  made  a 
•'  covenant  with  hell  and  an  agreement  with  death." 
This  was  the  most  solemn  piece  of  perjury,  the  most 
fatal  engine  against  the  church,  the  bane  of  monarchy, 
the  greatest  snare  of  souls,  and  mystery  of  iniquity,  that 
ever  was  hammered  out  by  the  wit  and  wickedness  of 
man.  The  king  was  murdered  by  the  refuse  of  his 
people,  the  scum  of  the  nation, —  that  is,  by  what  at  that 
time  was  the  uppermost  and  basest  part  of  it.  Like 
Actaeon,  he  was  torn  by  a  pack  of  bloodhounds.  The 
diflference  between  being  conquered  and  slain  by  another 
king,  and  being  killed  by  infamous  rebels,  was  the  differ- 
ence between  being  torn  by  a  lion  and  being  eat  up 
with  vermin.     His  sufferings  it  is  no  blasphemy  to  com 


378  ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS. 

pare  with  Christ's,  though  his  murderers  were  worse 
than  the  Jews.  With  devilish  ingenuity,  they  proposed 
various  ways  for  putting  him  to  death,  —  all  methods 
which  either  their  malice  could  suggest,  or  their  own 
guilt  deserve.  After  his  death  they  tried  to  assassinate 
his  name  and  butcher  his  reputation,  —  to  such  a  height 
of  tyranny  did  the  remorseless  malice  of  these  embittered 
rebels  rise.  They  searched  his  dead  body  to  see  if  he 
was  not  infected  with  some  disgraceful  disease.  But 
such  maladies  were  confined  to  his  murderers,  —  to  such 
men  as  Clement  and  Peters.  The  body  of  Charles  had 
none  of  the  ruins  and  genteel  rottenness  of  modern  de- 
bauchery. It  was  firm  and  clear,  like  his  conscience ;  he 
fell  like  the  cedar,  no  less  fragrant  than  tall  and  stately. 
All  who  opposed  Charles  are  treated  by  South  with 
remorseless  severity.  Sir  Harry  Vane  is  "  that  worthy 
knight  who  was  executed  on  Tower-hill ; "  Milton  is 
"  the  Latin  advocate,  who,  like  a  blind  adder,  has  spit  so 
much  venom  on  the  king's  person  and  cause." 

It  is  curious,  in  reading  this  sermon,  and  some  ol 
Milton's  prose,  to  note  the  extraordinary  virulence  and 
remorselessness  with  which  the  paper  wars  of  that  time 
were  conducted.  Controversialists  represented  each 
other  more  as  fiends  than  men ;  and  mutual  denuncia- 
tion foamed  into  madness.  South  writes  with  the  impa- 
tience and  rage  of  a  man  who  would  sweep,  if  he  could, 
the  enemies  of  church  and  king  to  perdition  with  one 
wave  of  his  pen.  He  says,  "  I  do  well  to  be  angry." 
Milton's  rage  is  deeper  and  more  condensed,  and 
prompts  more  awful  denunciations.  Thus,  at  the  end 
of  the  sublime  prose  hymn  which  concludes  his  early 
work,  "  Of  Reformation  in  England,"  he  prays  that  those 
•who,  by  impairing  and  diminution  of  the  true  faith, 


south's  sermons.  379 

the  distresses  and  servitude  of  their  country,  aspire  to 
high  dignity,  rule,  and  promotion  here,  after  a  shameful 
end  in  this  life,  (which  God  grant  them,)  shall  be  thrown 
dovm  eternally  into  the  darkest  and  deepest  gulf  of  hell, 
where,  under  the  despiteful  control,  the  trample  and 
spurn,  of  all  the  other  damned,  that  in  the  anguish  of 
their  torture  shall  have  no  other  ease  than  to  exercise  a 
raving  and  bestial  tyranny  over  them  as  their  slaves  and 
negroes,  they  shall  remain  in  that  plight  forever,  the 
basest,  the  lowermost,  the  most  dejected,  most  underfoot 
and  downtrodden  vassals  of  perdition."  The  whole  roy- 
alist body,  in  the  maddest  excesses  of  their  rhetorical 
execrations,  could  not  have  gone  beyond  this  determined 
and  terrible  invective.  There  is  nothing  in  South's 
writings  which  approaches  it  in  stern  and  superhuman, 
if  not  inhuman,  severity. 

In  November,  1662,  South  preached  at  St.  Paul's  his 
sermon  on  "  Man  Created  in  the  Image  of  God."  This 
we  deem,  on  the  whole,  his  greatest  production.  It  stands, 
with  that  of  Chillingworth  on  the  Form  and  Spirit  of 
Godliness,  in  the  very  front  rank  of  sermons.  It  is,  per- 
haps, the  best  and  fairest  expression  of  South's  mind, 
considered  apart  from  its  inveterate  prejudices,  and  indi- 
cates the  capacity  of  his  intellect  and  imagination  in  the 
region  of  pure  thought.  In  this  discourse  he  draws  a 
portrait  of  the  ideal  man,  as  he  supposes  him  to  have 
existed  in  paradise,  and  states  what  constitutes  perfection 
in  the  understanding,  will,  passions,  and  affections.  The 
vigor  and  clearness  of  thought  and  expression  in  this 
noble  treatise  on  human  nature  would  alone  be  sufficient 
to  place  South  high  on  the  sliding-scale  of  English  prose 
writers.  There  runs  through  the  discourse  a  tone  of 
majestic  pathos  and  regret,  arising  from  the  contrast  be* 


390  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

tween  the  real  and  the  ideal  man.  Several  sentences 
remind  us  of  Pascal.  South,  too,  exalts  the  dignity  of 
human  nature,  while  mourning  over  its  fall.  We  may,  he 
says,  "collect  the  excellency  of  the  understanding  then,  by 
the  glorious  remainders  of  it  now,  and  guess  at  the  state- 
liness  of  the  building  by  the  magnificence  of  its  ruins." 
"  And  certainly  that  must  have  needs  been  very  glorious, 
the  decays  of  which  are  so  admirable.  He  that  is  comely 
when  old  and  decrepit,  surely  was  very  beautiful  when 
he  was  young.  An  Aristotle  was  but  the  rubbish  of  an 
Adam,  and  Athens  but  the  rudiments  of  paradise." 

A  man  who  had  thus  signalized  himself  both  by  his 
powers  and  his  loyalty  could  not  escape  notice  and 
preferment.  In  1663,  he  was  made  prebendary  of  West- 
minster; in  1670,  canon  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford.  In 
1677,  he  accompanied,  as  chaplain,  Lawrence  Hyde,  the 
son  of  Clarendon,  sent  by  Charles  the  Second  ambas- 
sador to  Poland.  On  the  30th  of  April,  1678,  we  find 
him  returned,  and  preaching  at  Oxford.  In  his  sermon 
on  Christ's  Promise  the  Support  of  Ministers,  he  has 
some  remarks  which  seem  directed  against  Jeremy  Tay- 
lor. He  recommends  plainness  and  simplicity  of  speech 
to  the  minister,  and,  alluding  to  St.  Paul's  mode  of 
teaching,  he  says,  — "  Nothing  here  of  the  '  fringes  of 
the  North  Star;'  nothing  of  'nature's  becoming  unnat- 
ural;' nothing  of  the  'down  of  angel's  wings,'  or  the 
'  beautiful  locks  of  cherubims ; '  no  starched  similitudes, 
introduced  with  a  'Thus  have  I  seen  a  cloud  rolling  in 
its  airy  mansion,'  and  the  like.  No,  these  were  sublim- 
ities above  the  rise  of  the  apostolic  spirit.  For  the 
Apostles,  poor  mortals,  were  content  to  take  lower  steps, 
and  to  tell  the  world,  in  plain  terms,  that  he  who  be- 
lieved sliould  be  saved,  and  that  he  who  believed  not 


south's  sermons.  381 

ehould  be  damned."  There  is  a  good  deal  more  about 
gaudery,  frisking  it  in  tropes,  fine  conceits,  and  airy- 
fancies,  shooting  over  men's  heads  while  professing  to 
aim  at  their  hearts,  —  all  of  which  might  seem  to  have 
been  levelled  at  Taylor,  by  one  whose  energetic  and  fiery 
spirit  could  ill  brook  the  "  process  of  smoothness  and 
delight"  by  which  the  sweet  poet  of  theolog}'  would 
draw  men  into  heaven.  South,  also,  in  this  sermon, 
darts  with  his  usual  practical  acuteness  on  the  motives 
which  animated  many  of  the  opponents  of  the  church  in 
their  dolorous  complaints.  When  they  desire  to  get  the 
clergy  under  their  feet,  then  the  clergy  are  too  high  and 
proud.  "  When  avarice  disposes  men  to  be  rapacious 
and  sacrilegious,  then  forthwith  the  church  is  too  rich." 
And  when,  by  gaming  and  revelling,  these  same  men 
have  disabled  themselves  from  paying  their  butchers, 
brewers,  and  vintners,  "  then  immediately  they  are  all 
thunder  and  lightning  against  the  intemperance  and 
luxury  of  the  clergy,  forsooth,  and  high  time  it  is  for  a 
thorough  reformation." 

In  16S1,  South  preached  before  the  king,  at  West- 
minster, his  sermon  on  "  All  Contingencies  directed  by 
Providence."  In  this  discourse,  he  referred  to  the  impos- 
sibility of  foreseeing  the  tremendous  results  of  small 
things  on  the  stability  and  happiness  of  states;  and, 
after  giving  two  instances  drawn  from  history,  he  ex- 
claimed, —  "  And  who  that  had  beheld  such  a  bankrupt, 
beggarly  fellow  as  Cromwell,  first  entering  the  Parlia- 
ment House  with  a  threadbare,  torn  cloak,  and  a  greasy 
hat,  (and  perhaps  neither  of  them  paid  for,)  could  have 
suspected  that,  in  the  space  of  so  few  years,  he  should, 
by  the  murder  of  one  king  and  the  banishment  of  another, 
ascend  tlie  throne,  be  invested  in  the  royal  robes^  and 


382  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

want  nothing  of  the  state  of  a  king  but  the  changing  of 
his  hat  into  a  crown  ? "  Charles  laughed  heartily  at 
this,  and  said,  turning  to  Hyde,  "  Odsfish  !  your  chaplain 
must  be  a  bishop ;  therefore  put  me  in  mind  of  him  at 
the  next  death."  It  was  the  misfortune  of  South  to 
preach  his  doctrines  of  passive  obedience,  and  God's  par- 
ticular care  of  kings,  in  the  reign  of  a  good-natured 
rascal,  who  had  not  a  single  quality  of  majesty,  to  sus- 
tain the  theory  of  the  divine  by  the  example  of  the  mon- 
arch. South  seems  to  have  been  ambitious  rather  to  be 
the  champion  of  the  church  than  to  enjoy  its  high  and 
lucrative  offices.  He  repeatedly  declined  preferment. 
In  the  reign  of  James  the  Second,  though  he  disliked  the 
measures  of  that  monarch  relating  to  poper}%  he  would 
not  oppose  him,  and  when  pressed  to  sign  the  invitation 
to  the  Prince  of  Orange,  steadily  refused.  After  the 
revolution,  he  rather  submitted  to  the  new  government 
than  acknowledged  it.  He  might  have  had  one  of  the 
vacant  bishoprics,  had  he  pleased ;  but  he  felt  too  strong 
a  sympathy  with  the  nonjurors  to  step  into  any  of  their 
late  offices.  The  rest  of  his  life  was  spent  in  the  same 
unwavering  devotion  to  the  church  which  had  charac- 
terized his  youth  and  manhood.  He  opposed  all  meas- 
ures to  produce  a  union  of  dissenting  Protestants  that 
involved  the  slightest  sacrifice  of  the  forms  and  cere- 
monies of  the  church.  He  died  July  8,  1716,  after  a 
long  life  of  intellectual  labor.  His  biography  is  to  be 
read  in  his  sermons.  In  them  are  chronicled  the  results 
of  his  studies,  the  opinions  he  entertained  of  men  and 
measures,  the  thoughts  he  grasped  in  contemplation,  the 
passions  he  felt  in  actual  life ;  and  on  them  is  impressed 
the  undeniable  marks  of  the  daring,  straightforward  char- 
acter of  the  man. 


SOCTITS   SERMONS.  383 

In  both  his  life  and  uTitings,  South  presents  himself 
as  a  man  of  more  than  ordinary  dimensions.  His  under- 
standing was  large,  strong,  and  acute,  grappling  every 
subject  he  essayed  to  treat  with  a  stern  grasp,  and  tear- 
ing and  ripping  up,  with  a  peculiar  intellectual  fierce- 
ness, systems  and  principles  which  contradicted  his  own. 
He  possessed  a  constant  sense  of  inward  strength,  and 
whatever  province  of  thought  he  willed  to  make  his  own, 
always  yielded  to  his  unceasing  and  unwearied  effort. 
Difficulties  and  obstacles,  in  conception  or  expression, 
instead  of  daunting  him,  only  seemed  to  rouse  new  ener- 
gies of  passion,  and  set  his  mind  on  fire.  Many  sen- 
tences in  his  works  seem  torn  from  his  brain  by  main 
strength,  expressing  not  only  the  thought  he  intended  to 
convey,  but  a  kind  of  impatient  rage  that  it  did  not  come 
with  less  labor.  He  wrote,  probably,  from  his  own  con- 
sciousness, when  he  represented  study  as  racking  the 
inward  and  destroying  the  outward  man,  —  as  clothing 
the  soul  with  the  spoils  of  the  body ;  "  and  like  a  stronger 
blast  of  lightning,  not  only  melts  the  sword,  but  consumes 
the  scabbard."  And  again,  in  another  connection,  he 
calls  truth  a  great  stronghold,  barred  and  fortified  by  God 
and  nature,  and  diligence  the  understanding's  laying 
siege  to  it.  "  Sometimes  it  thinks  it  gains  a  point ;  and 
presently,  again,  it  finds  itself  baffled  and  beaten  off;  yet 
still  it  renews  the  onset,  attacks  the  difficulty  afresh, 
plants  this  reasoning  and  that  argument,  this  conse- 
quence and  that  distinction,  like  so  many  intellectual 
batteries,  till  at  length  it  forces  a  way  and  passage  into 
the  obstinate  enclosed  truth  that  so  long  withstood  and 
defied  all  its  assaults."  To  great  sharpness  and  pene- 
tration of  intellect,  which  pierced  and  probed  whatever  it 
attacked,  he  joined  a  peculiar  vividness  of  conception,  to 


384  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

which  we  can  give  no  more  appropriate  name  than  imag- 
ination. In  almost  every  subject  which  he  treats,  he  not 
merely  reasons  powerfully,  but  he  sees  clearly ;  and  it  is 
this  bright  inward  vision  of  his  theme  that  he  most 
warmly  desires  to  convey  to  the  reader.  Like  every 
truly  great  thinker,  he  thinks  close  to  things,  without 
the  intervention  of  words,  and  masters  the  objects  of  his 
contemplation  before  he  seeks  to  give  them  expression. 
His  style,  therefore,  has  singular  intensity,  vitality,  and 
richness.  It  expresses  not  only  the  thought,  but  the 
thought  as  modified  by  the  character  of  the  thinker.  In 
this  respect  he  is  among  the  most  original  of  writers. 
His  commonplaces  never  appear  echoes  of  other  minds, 
but  truths  which  he  has  himself  seen  and  proved.  The 
strange  and  strained  conceits,  the  harsh  metaphors,  which, 
when  tried  by  general  principles  of  taste,  must  be  con- 
ceded to  disfigure  many  of  his  sermons,  are  still  legiti- 
mate ofTsprings  of  a  mind  passionately  in  earnest  to  fix 
and  express  some  "  slippery  uncertainties,"  some  fugitive 
and  elusive  thoughts,  whose  bright  faces  shone  on  his 
mind  but  a  moment,  and  then  flitted  away  into  darkness. 
The  coarse  expressions  and  comparisons  in  his  writings 
are  also  indicative  of  his  impatience  at  all  coquetry  with 
language,  and  his  disposition  to  give  things  their  appro- 
priate garniture  of  words.  If  the  expression  disgusts,  the 
object  of  the  preacher  is  attained,  for  disgust  at  the 
expression  is  naturally  transferred  to  the  thing  which  he 
desires  to  make  disgusting.  Thus,  when  he  wishes  to 
indicate  the  disproportion  between  the  pleasures  of  the 
thinking  and  the  eating  man,  he  represents  them  to  be 
as  different  "  as  the  silence  of  Archimedes  in  the  study 
of  a  problem,  and  the  stillness  of  a  sow  at  her  wash." 
Again,  when  he  desires  to  make  graphically  evident  that 


south's  sermons.  385 

ploflsure  is  merely  a  relative  term,  and  consists  in  the 
suitableness  of  objects  to  varying  conditions  of  character, 
—  that  what  is  pleasure  to  one  man  is  pain  to  another, 
he  declares  that  "  the  pleasures  of  an  angel  can  never  be 
tlie  pleasures  of  a  hog."  His  works  would  furnish  num- 
berless instances  of  the  same  felicity  of  vulgar  allusion. 
Indeed,  he  lived  among  a  generation  of  sinners,  whose 
consciences  were  not  assailable  by  smooth  circumlocu- 
tions, and  whose  vices  required  the  scourge  and  the  hot 
iron.  He  vividly  perceived  the  baseness  and  contempti- 
ble nature  of  sin,  through  all  the  gilded  shows  in  which 
it  was  encased,  and  could  draw  from  natural  objects  no 
images  which  he  thought  too  foul  and  hateful  to  picture 
it  to  the  imagination. 

The  intensity  of  feeling  and  thinking  which  bums 
throughout  South's  writings  has  no  parallel  in  English 
theology.  It  resembles  the  unwearied  fire  of  the  epic 
poet.  If  it  had  been  allied  to  a  shaping  and  fusing 
imagination,  like  that  of  Milton,  the  Puritans  would  not, 
perhaps,  have  produced  the  only  great  poet  of  that  age. 
As  it  is,  \vi  doubt  if,  in  the  single  quality  of  freshness 
and  force  of  expression,  of  rapid  and  rushing  life,  any 
writer  of  English  prose,  from  Milton  to  Burke,  equalled 
South.  In  him,  this  animation  is  not  confined  to  par- 
ticular passages  or  sermons,  but  glows  and  leaps  through 
the  whole  body  of  his  writings.  His  vast  command  of 
language,  and  his  power  of  infusing  the  energy  of  his 
nature  into  almost  every  phrase  and  image,  would  make 
his  sermons  worthy  the  attention  of  all  students  of  expres- 
sion, even  if  they  were  not  fascinating  for  their  sparkling 
good  sense  in  questions  of  social  morals,  and  the  vigor 
of  intellect  brought  to  the  discussion  of  controverted 
points  in  theology  and  governmeat. 
25 


386  ESSAYS    AND   BEVIEWS. 

The  wit  of  South  is  bountifully  sprinkled  over  hia 
sermons,  and  it  is  by  this  quality  that  he  is  most  com- 
monly known.  He  uses  it  often  as  a  gleaming  weapon 
of  attack  and  defence.  It  is,  however,  no  light  and  airy 
plaything  with  him,  but  generally  a  severe  and  mascu 
line  power.  It  gleams  brightest  an  i  cuts  sharpest,  when 
its  possessor  is  most  enraged  and  indignant.  Though 
sometimes  exhibited  in  sly  thrusts,  shrewd  innuendoes, 
insinuating  mockeries,  and  a  kind  of  raillery  half  play- 
ful and  half  malicious,  it  is  more  commonly  exercised  to 
hold  up  adversaries  to  contempt  and  scorn,  to  pierce 
iniquity  and  falsehood  with  shafts  that  wound  as  well  as 
glisten,  or  to  evade  logical  dilemmas  by  a  lightning-like 
substitution  of  an  analogy  of  fancy  for  one  of  the  reason. 
In  many  cases,  it  makes  his  understanding  play  the  pan 
of  a  partisan,  on  subjects  where  it  is  abundantly  able  to 
act  the  judge.  So  fertile  was  his  mind  in  ingenious 
turns,  quirks,  and  analogies,  that  an  epigram  often  mis- 
led him  from  his  logic  ;  and  to  fix  an  unanswerable  jest 
upon  an  opponent  was  as  pleasing  as  to  gravel  him  with 
an  unanswerable  argument.  Thus,  the  Puritanic  party 
were  continually  putting  forward  the  phrase  liberty  of 
conscience,  as  the  object  of  their  struggles.  A  mind  like 
South's  would  evade  the  justice  of  such  a  plea  somewhat 
in  this  wise.  Conscience  suggests  piety  and  honesty. 
Now,  among  the  Puritans  were  many  notorious  hypocrites 
and  sharpers.  The  cry  of  conscience,  of  course,  would 
be  with  them  a  mere  disguise  for  selfish  objects.  Con- 
sequently, what  the  Puritans  wanted  was  not  liberty  of 
conscience,  but  liberty  from  conscience.  The  inward 
delight  following  such  a  dexterous  turn  of  words,  em- 
bodying a  principle  but  partially  true,  would  prevent 
South  from  pursuing  the  subject  further  or  rescuing'  his 


SOUTHS   SERMONS.  387 

argument  from  the  fallacy  into  which  it  had  been  seduced 
by  epigram.  Most  of  his  sermons  bearing  upon  dis- 
senters and  republicans  swarm  with  sophisms  of  a  simi- 
lar character,  in  which  there  is  just  enough  truth  to  give 
a  practical  application  to  the  shining  edge  of  the  wit. 
A  party,  however,  which  had  all  its  badges  and  watch- 
»vords  so  caricatured  or  distorted,  would  find  more  dif- 
ficulty in  gaining  proselytes  than  if  the  falsehood  of 
its  principles  had  been  demonstrated  by  unimpeachable 
arguments. 

Yet,  with  all  his  understanding,  learning,  and  wit, 
South  was  a  fanatic  and  a  bigot  in  everything  which 
concerned  church  and  state.  To  the  dominion  of  a  few 
contemptible  maxims,  which  we  can  hardly  conceive  the 
feeble  intellects  and  abject  spirits  of  Charles's  courtiers 
to  have  honestly  admitted,  did  this  independent,  dog- 
matic, fierce,  and  defying  controversialist  surrender  his 
splendid  talents  and  accomplishments.  It  is  difficult 
to  believe  that  his  mind  voluntarily  submitted  to  this 
slavery,  though  there  is  no  evidence  that  it  was  not  self- 
imposed.  The  only  explanation  we  can  give  is,  that  his 
nature  early  received  a  strong  bias,  by  the  pressure  of 
external  circumstances,  towards  the  royal  cause.  He 
was  naturally  exceedingly  sensitive  to  the  ridiculous  side 
of  things,  and  naturally  impatient  and  choleric.  To  a 
man  thus  constituted,  a  prejudice  imbibed  against  the 
persons  connected  with  a  cause  is  equivalent  to  a  hatred 
of  the  cause  itself;  and  when  this  prejudice  deepens  into 
a  principle,  large  powers  of  intellect  more  readily  sub- 
serve than  oppose  it.  Now,  South  saw  the  ridiculous 
and  selfish  side  of  Puritanism  and  its  affiliated  political 
doctrines,  with  the  keenest  glance.  He  had  frequented 
the  conventicles  in  his  youth.     All  that  was  grotesque 


888  ESSAYS    AND   REVIEWS. 

presumptuous,  ignorant,  cruel,  senseless,  and  h}'pocriti' 
cal,  in  the  different  sects  of  the  time,  he  had  seen 
embodied  in  appropriate  persons.  The  "  blessed  breath- 
ings," the  "  heavenly  hummings  and  hawings,"  the 
various  transparent  veils  through  which  hypocrisy  is 
visible  to  the  eye  of  wit,  were  familiar  to  his  mind.  He 
must  gradually  have  formed  the  opinion  that  the  whole 
movement  with  which  these  were  accidentally  connected 
was  one  of  mingled  knavery  and  folly,  and  could  end 
only  in  the  destruction  of  social  and  religious  order.  If, 
instead  of  imbibing  his  first  impressions  of  civil  and 
religious  liberty  at  the  time  of  Cromwell,  he  had  lived 
in  an  earlier  day,  and  been  one  of  those  who  met  at  Lord 
Falkland's  house,  with  Selden  and  Chillingworth,  to 
discuss  the  constitutionality  of  the  latest  act  of  the  king, 
or  the  sanity  of  the  latest  foolery  of  Laud,  h  s  mind 
would  never  have  been  forced  into  the  vassalage  of  such 
degrading  errors  as  it  ultimately  defended.  As  it  was, 
however,  the  man  of  intelligence  scoffed  at  the  narrow- 
ness, the  man  of  learning  at  the  ignorant  fanaticism,  and 
the  man  of  wit  at  the  costume  and  affectations,  of  the 
enthusiasts  whom  he  daily  met,  without  consider  ng  that 
their  cause  was  the  cause  of  English  liberty,  and  their 
madness  the  result  of  ecclesiastical  tyranny.  With  these 
impressions  of  the  Puritans,  it  was  natural  that  he 
should  be  shocked  at  "  such  a  pack  of  incendiaries '' 
assuming  to  be  ministers  of  the  Gospel,  and,  as  it 
appeared  to  him,  preaching  schism,  lecturing  men  into 
sacrilege,  praying  the.^i  into  rebellion,  beheading  princes^ 
and  overthrowing  a  church  and  monarchy  which  seemed 
strong  with  the  strength  of  a  divine  right.  At  the  res- 
toration of  Charles  the  Second,  it  was  natural,  too,  that 
he  should  be  drunk  with  loyalty,  in  common  with  othet 


sotjth's  sermons.  389 

men  of  a  less  fieiy  temper  and  less  determined  prejudices. 
That  he  was  honest  in  his  bigotry,  there  can  be  little 
doubt.  His  sermons  are  the  heartiest  compositions  of 
the  time.  He  continually  gives  evidence  of  a  spirit 
which  would  not  hesitate  to  fight  or  die  for  the  wretched 
principles  he  esteemed.  In  some  way  or  other,  he  had 
connected  the  office  and  person  of  king  with  the  most 
awful  objects  of  his  reverence,  and,  as  a  reasoner,  became 
utterly  insane  when  their  sacredness  was  brought  in 
question.  Dogmatic  and  authoritative  by  nature  and 
education,  he  hardly  comprehended  the  meaning  of  toler- 
ation in  matters  of  religion.  Against  everything  which 
militated  with  the  doctrines  or  ceremonies  of  his  church, 
he  hurled  his  anathemas,  or  shot  his  sarcasms.  Socini- 
ans  and  atheists  he  considered  identical,  and  he  wonders, 
in  one  of  his  discourses,  that  the  diabolical  impiety  of 
the  former,  in  their  notions  about  the  future  state  of  the 
wicked,  had  not  been  visited  with  condign  punishment 
at  the  hands  of  civil  justice.  Popery  and  Puritanism 
were  also  identical.  "  They  were  as  truly  brothers  as 
Romulus  and  Remus.  They  sucked  their  principles  from 
the  same  wolf."  The  coumge  with  which  he  uttered  his 
extreme  opinions  was  of  that  kind  which  would  have 
sustained  him  at  the  stake.  "  Were  it  put  to  my  choice," 
he  says,  "  I  think  I  should  choose  rather,  with  spitting 
and  scorn,  to  be  tumbled  into  the  dust  in  blood,  bearing 
witness  to  any  known  truth  of  our  dear  Lord  now 
opposed  by  the  enthusiasts  of  the  present  age,  than,  ly  a 
denial  of  those  truths,  through  blood  and  perjury  wade 
to  a  sceptre,  and  lord  it  on  a  throne."  He  speaks  of  bad 
men  as  those  who  blaspheme  God,  revile  their  {rince, 
a7id  ihx  like,  —  placing  these  sins  on  a  level.  In  a.biost 
every  case  in  which  he  refers  to  Charles  the  First  and 


390  fiSSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

the  parliamentary  party,  he  utters  hardly  a  word  of  his- 
tory. He  can  see  nothing  but  perfection  in  the  king, 
nothing  but  villany  in  those  who  oppose  his  treachery 
and  tyranny.  Faction  and  rebellion,  by  which  he  means 
opposition  to  the  monarch,  he  denounces  as  the  worst  of 
sins  in  his  own  age,  —  an  age  which  he  confesses  to  be 
supernaturally  expert  in  all  sin's  excesses  and  inventions. 
In  his  sermon  on  Education,  a  sermon  which  contains 
many  admirable  and  comprehensive  ideas,  he  makes 
undeviating  loyalty  to  the  king  one  of  the  chief  doctrines 
to  be  woven  into  the  minds  of  youth.  Still,  on  all  sub- 
jects where  his  political  and  religious  bigotries  do  not 
warp  his  judgment  and  blind  his  perceptions,  the  capac- 
ity of  his  mind  for  the  investigation  of  truth  is  splendidly 
shown.  It  would  be  easy  to  condemn  his  fanaticism  by 
principles  gathered  from  his  own  writings,  when  his  mind 
had  free  scope,  and  was  not  haunted  by  the  ghostly 
names  of  church  and  king.  The  wonder  of  the  reader 
is,  as  he  peruses  South's  clear  exposure  and  energetic 
denunciation  of  the  various  forms  of  sin  and  error,  that 
a  man  so  skilled  in  detecting  the  slightest  departure  from 
virtue  should  have  been  so  incapable  of  applying  his 
principles  to  the  acts  of  his  bosom's  idols. 

The  depravity  of  morals  and  manners  during  the 
reign  of  Charles  the  Second  has  never  been  depicted 
with  more  force  of  coloring  than  by  South.  Here  none 
of  his  hatreds  interfered  to  bias  his  mind,  except  his 
laudable  hatred  of  sin  and  wickedness.  Never  were 
debauchees  and  criminals  exposed  to  a  more  merciless 
storm  of  ridicule  and  execration  than  when  he  poured 
on  them  the  flood  of  his  mingled  contempt  and  wrath. 
His  invective  lights  on  every  rank  and  degree  beneath 
royalty,  and  there  are  sentences  in  his  sermcuis,  which, 


south's  seemons.  391 

il  not  aimed  at  the  king,  seem  to  strike  him  none  the 
less.  Thus,  he  says,  "  A  corrupt  governor  is  nothing 
else  than  a  reigning  sin ;  and  a  sin  in  office  may  com- 
mand anything  but  respect."  Again,  he  declares  it  a 
"  stranjre  and  shameful  thing  to  have  vice  installed, 
debauchery  enthroned ;  "  and  it  is  this  very  strange  and 
shameful  thing  which  shocks  every  student  of  the  reign 
of  Charles.  It  is,  however,  upon  the  dissolute  nobility, 
statesmen,  and  men  of  wit  and  pleasure  about  town,  that 
our  stern  divine  expends  most  of  his  sarcasm  and  denun- 
ciation. His  sermons  swarm  with  severe  and  pointed 
rebukes  of  these.  The  scandalous  and  enormous  im- 
piety, the  unparalleled  wickedness,  of  his  age,  are  con- 
stant subjects  of  his  virtuous  horror  and  his  epigram- 
matic rage.  If  we  take  his  description  of  the  time  as 
accurate,  we  should  adopt  an  opinion  regarding  the 
"  blessed  restoration  "  of  Charles  the  Second  by  no  means 
flattering  to  monarchy.  We  will  give,  mostly  in  his 
own  sharp  words  gathered  from  different  portions  of  his 
writings,  what  South  himself  taught  as  the  character  of 
his  age. 

Blasphemy,  irreligion,  and  debauchery,  were  the  prime 
characteristics  of  all  men  of  wit  and  fashion.  Their 
ambition  was  to  reach  daring  heights  in  sin.  They  were 
such  as  broke  the  mounds  of  all  law,  such  as  laughed  at 
the  sword  of  vengeance  which  divine  justice  brandished 
in  their  faces;  and  laid  their  hearts  open,  like  broad  and 
high  roads,  for  all  the  sin  and  villany  in  the  world  freely 
to  pass  through.  Vice  walked  about  with  bare  face  and 
brazen  forehead,  looking  down  with  scorn  upon  virtue  as 
moan  and  contemptible.  Practised  sinners  threw  off  the 
restraints  of  religion  as  pedantry,  narrowness,  and  the 
infusions  of  education,  affecting  a  superiority  in  villany 


ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

to  the  fops,  their  ancestors,  and,  not  content  with  distin- 
guishing themselves  as  laborious  drunkards,  dextrous 
cheats,  or  sly  adulterers,  were  earnest  to  set  off  all  other 
sins  with  the  crowning  perfection  of  complete  atheism. 
So  confident  were  men  in  sin,  that  it  was  as  if  they  had 
come  to  dare  and  defy  the  justice  of  Heaven,  to  laugh 
at  right-aiming  thunderbolts,  to  puff  at  damnation,  and, 
in  a  word,  to  bid  Omnipotence  do  its  worst.  The  age 
groaned  under  a  company  of  lewd,  shallow-brained  puffs, 
wretches  who  seemed  to  have  sinned  themselves  into 
another  kind  of  species,  and  who  made  contempt  of 
religion  the  badge  of  wit,  gallantry,  and  true  discretion. 
These  fellows  bore  a  peculiar  stamp  of  impiety,  and  ap- 
pear to  have  formed  a  kind  of  diabolical  society  for  find- 
ing out  new  experiments  in  vice.  They  laughed  at  the 
dull,  inexperienced,  obsolete  sinners  of  former  times,  and, 
scorning  to  keep  within  the  common,  beaten  road  to  hell, 
by  being  vicious  only  at  the  low  rate  of  example  and 
imitation,  they  aimed  to  search  out  other  ways  and  lati- 
tudes, to  oblige  posterity  with  unheard-of  inventions  and 
discoveries  in  sin.  Some  persons  were  so  unspeakably 
bad,  that  the  devil  himself  could  neither  make  nor  wish 
them  worse.  Parents  set  the  worst  example  to  their 
children ;  and  many  children  of  high  families  were  not 
so  much  born,  as  damned,  into  the  world.  Sin,  by 
being  impudently  defended,  and  confidently  practised  and 
countenanced,  by  the  noble,  fairly  got  the  victory  over 
firtue.  It  rode  on  successfully  and  gloriously,  lived 
magnificently,  and  fared  deliciously  every  day.  Nay,  so 
far  were  men  from  sneaking  under  their  guilt,  that  they 
scorned  to  hide  or  hold  down  their  heads  for  less  crimes 
than  many  others  have  lost  theirs  for.  The  example  of 
the  great  takes  away  the  shane  of  anything  thcjy  are 


south's  sermons.  393 

observed  to  practise,  though  never  so  foul  and  shameful. 
No  man  blushes  at  the  imitation  of  a  scarlet  or  purple 
sinner,  though  the  sin  be  of  the  same  color.  A  vice 
d  la  mode  will  look  virtue  itself  out  of  countenance,  and 
out  of  heart  too.  Men  love  not  to  be  found  singular, 
especially  wliere  the  singularity  lies  in  the  rugged  and 
severe  paths  of  virtue.  So,  in  this  age  of  grown  and 
improved  debauchery,  the  countenance  given  to  vice  by 
the  nobles  corrupted  all  classes.  Places  of  honor  were 
allotted  to  the  base  and  wicked  ;  one  to  a  murderer,  a 
second  to  an  atheist,  a  third  to  a  parasite.  The  great 
objects  of  the.  politician  were  plunder  and  official  station. 
His  maxim  was,  that,  however  fond  priests  may  talk, 
there  is  no  devil  like  an  enemy  in  power,  no  damnation 
like  being  poor,  no  hell  like  an  empty  purse.  All  sac- 
rifice for  general  objects  he  considered  a  piece  of  romantic 
melancholy,  unworthy  a  shrewd  man,  who  was  to  look 
upon  himself  as  his  prince,  his  countrj^  his  church,  nay, 
as  his  God.  If  he  were  called  a  traitor  and  a  villain,  he 
looked  upon  such  terms  as  the  mere  declaimings  of  nov- 
ices and  men  of  heat,  whose  whole  portion  and  inherit- 
ance is  a  freedom  to  speak.  Women,  in  their  shameless- 
ness,  at  last  became  ashamed  of  nothing  but  to  be  virtuous 
or  to  be  thought  old.  If  they  were  asked  the  reason  of 
their  assuming  such  reckless  liberty,  they  would  reply,  it 
was  the  mode  ;  "  the  genteel  freedom  of  the  present  age, 
which  has  redeemed  itself  from  the  pitiful  pedantry  and 
absurd  scrupulosity  of  former  times,  in  which  those  bug- 
bears of  credit  and  conscience  spoiled  all  the  pleasure, 
the  air,  and  the  fineness  of  conversation."  The  king's 
mistresses  were  openly  visited  by  the  great  and  the 
honorable.  All  possible  courtship  and  attendance  was 
thought  too  littJe  to  be  used  towards  these  infamous  mid 


894  ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS. 

odious  women,  who  were  fit  to  be  visited  by  none  bul 
God  himself,  who  visits  after  a  different  manner  from  the 
courtiers  of  the  world. 

Literature,  also,  was  deeply  tainted  by  the  corruption 
of  the  times.  Bad  authors  abounded,  the  devil's  aman- 
uenses, and  secretaries  to  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  who 
provided  monstrosities  of  impiety  and  wickedness,  which 
the  people  devoured,  with  the  fire  and  brimstone  flaming 
round  them,  and  thus,  as  it  were,  digested  death  itself, 
and  made  a  meal  upon  perdition.  The  sins  of  these  in- 
famous authors  outlived  themselves ;  for  a  bad  writer 
sins  in  his  grave,  corrupts  others  while  he  is  rotting  him- 
self, and  has  a  growing  account  in  the  other  world,  after 
he  has  paid  nature's  last  debt  in  this ;  and,  in  a  word, 
quits  this  life  like  a  man  carried  off  by  the  plague,  who, 
though  he  dies  himself,  yet  does  execution  upon  others 
by  a  surviving  infection.  In  such  traders  for  hell  as 
these  the  nation  abounded ;  wtetches  who  lived  upon 
other  men's  sins,  the  common  poisoners  of  youth,  equally 
desperate  in  their  fortunes  and  manners,  and  getting  their 
very  bread  by  the  damnation  of  souls. 

This  is  the  representation  South  gives  of  his  age, 
mostly  in  his  own  nervous  language.  He  compares  the 
monstrous  increase  of  vice  to  the  breaking  of  a  sea  upon 
the  land,  and  declares  it  too  powerful  to  be  within  the 
reach  of  human  remedies ;  to  be  entirely  remediless. 
•'  unless  the  great  Governor  of  the  world,  who  qi.ells  the 
rage  and  swelling  of  the  sea,  and  sets  bars  and  doors  to 
it,  beyond  which  the  proudest  of  its  waves  cannot  pass, 
shall,  in  his  infinite  compassion  to  us,  do  the  same  to  that 
ocean  of  vice  which  now  swells  and  roars,  and  lifts  up 
itself  above  all  banks  and  bounds  of  human  laws ;  and 
60.    by  his   omnipotent  word,  reducing   its   power,  and 


BUVTHS   SERMONS.  395 

abasing  its  pride,  shall  at  length  say  to  it,  '  Hitherto 
shalt  thou  come,  and  no  further.'  " 

In  all  his  sennons  relating  to  life  and  practical  duty,  in 
exposing  the  delusions  of  the  passions,  in  ripping  up  the 
•'concealing  continents"  of  vice  and  error,  in  lashing  sin 
and  assisting  struggling  virtue,  in  the  sharp  analysis  of 
all  those  th  yughts  and  feelings  which  tend  to  deaden  the 
conscience,  South  is  eminently  powerful,  brilliant,  and 
excellent.  He  is  never  misled  by  any  sentiment  or  sen- 
timentality from  the  direct  path  of  virtue  and  truth,  Ht 
calls  everything  by  its  right  name,  and  uses  as  little  tol- 
eration to  sin  as  to  dissenters.  His  sermons  on  Covet- 
ousness,  Education,  Shamelessness  in  Sin,  Envy,  the 
Misapplication  of  Names,  Hypocrisy,  Resignation,  Prayer, 
Fasting,  and  many  others, are  full  of  admirable  thoughts, 
expressed  with  a  never-flagging  life,  directness,  and  splen- 
dor of  language.  His  writings  teem  with  important 
truths,  sharpened  into  epigrams  or  maxims.  Thus, 
speaking  of  the  heart,  he  says,  "  None  knows  how  much 
villany  lodges  in  this  little  retired  room."  In  exposing 
the  sin  of  intemperance,  he  quaintly  remarks,  "  The 
conscience  cannot  stand  up,  when  the  understanding  is 
drunk  down.  He  who  makes  his  belly  his  business  will 
quickly  come  to  have  a  conscience  of  as  large  a  swallow 
as  his  throat."  In  another  connection  he  remarks,  "  It 
was  the  sop  that  slid  the  devil  into  Judas,  and  the  glutton 
that  ushered  in  the  traitor."  Pride  he  defines  to  have 
been  the  "  devil's  sin  and  the  devil's  ruin,  and  has  been 
ever  since  the  devil's  stratagem ;  who,  like  an  expert 
wrestler,  usually  gives  a  man  a  lift  before  he  gives  him 
a  throw."  He  is  full  of  sly  allusions  to  his  time.  Grub- 
street,  with  its  squalor  and  bailiffs,  was  probably  in  his 
mind,  when,  in  speaking  of  extemporary  prayers,  he  re 


396  ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS. 

marked,  God  does  not  require  us  "  to  beg  our  daily  bread 
in  blank  verse,  or  show  anything  of  the  poet  in  our  devo- 
tions, but  indigence  and  want."  At  times  his  compari- 
sons are  arguments.  Thus,  he  says  finely  of  innocence, 
that  "  it  is  like  polished  armor ;  it  both  adorns  and  de- 
fends." In  referring  to  dunces  occupying  prominent  sit- 
uations, he  tells  them,  "  If  owls  will  not  be  hooted  at,  let 
them  keep  close  within  the  tree,  and  not  perch  upon  the 
upper  boughs."  Again,  he  states  the  emptiness  of  fame, 
in  a  fine  allusion  :  —  "  Those  that  are  so  fond  of  applause 
while  they  pursue  it,  how  little  do  they  taste  it  when 
they  have  it !  Like  lightning,  it  only  flashes  upon  the 
face,  and  is  gone ;  and  it  is  well  if  it  does  not  hurt  the 
man."  It  is  rare  that  we  see  a  great  truth  more  per- 
tinently expressed  than  this :  —  "  Guilt  is  that  which 
quells  the  courage  of  the  bold,  ties  the  tongue  of  the  elo- 
quent, and  makes  greatness  itself  sneak  and  lurk,  and 
behave  itself  poorly."  Joy,  when  perfect,  he  remarks, 
does  not  break  out  in  violent  eruptions,  but  "  fills  the  soul, 
as  God  does  the  universe,  silently  and  without  noise." 
In  his  sermon  on  Resignation,  he  anticipates  Byron's  line 
on  man,  — 

"  Degraded  mass  of  animated  dust,"  — 

calling  the  human  being,  as  opposed  to  the  divine,  an 
"  aspiring  lump  of  dirt ;  "  and  again,  "  a  pitiful  piece  of 
animated  dirt."  To  be  angry  under  the  dispensations 
of  Providence,  he  declares  the  height  of  folly  as  well  as 
wickedness.  "  A  man  so  behaving  himself  is  nothing 
else  but  weakness  and  nakedness  s.'tting  itself  in  battle 
array  against  Omnipotence  ;  a  handful  of  dust  and  ashes 
sending  a  challenge  to  all  the  host  of  heaven.  For  what 
else  are  words  and  talk  against  thund<;rbolts  ;  and  the 


south's  sermons.  397 

weak,  empty  noise  of  a  querulous  rage  against  Him  who 
can  speak  worlds,  who  could  word  heaven  and  earth  oiit 
of  nothing,  and  ca?i  when  he  pleases  word  them  into 
nothing  again  ?  "  In  a  sermon  on  Education  he  speaks 
of  some  schoolmasters  as  executioners  rather  than  in- 
structers  of  youth,  and  remarks  that  "  stripes  and  blows 
are  fit  to  be  used  only  on  those  who  carry  their  brains 
in  their  backs,"  He  calls  the  hypocrite  a  "  masquerader 
in  religion,  as  ever  still  dodging  and  doubling  with  God 
and  man,  and  never  speaking  his  mind,  nor  so  much  as 
opening  his  mouth  in  earnest,  but  when  he  eats  or 
breathes."  Of  the  old,  impotent,  silver-haired  sinner, 
"  the  broken  and  decrepit  sensualist,  creeping,  as  it  were, 
to  the  devil  on  all  fours,"  he  says  that  he  is  "  a  wretch 
so  scorned,  so  despised,  and  so  abandoned  by  all,  that 
his  very  vices  forsake  him."  The  covetous  man  he 
probes  in  this  wise  :  — "  The  cries  of  the  poor  never 
enter  into  his  ears  ;  if  they  do,  he  has  always  one  ear 
readier  to  let  them  out  than  the  other  to  take  them  in. 
He  is  a  pest  and  monster,  greedier  than  the  sea,  barrener 
^an  the  shore."  And  further  on  he  says,  —  "God  may 
smite  thee  with  some  lingering,  dispiriting  disease,  which 
shall  crack  the  strength  of  thy  sinews,  and  suck  the 
marrow  out  of  thy  bones  ;  and  then  what  pleasure  can 
it  be  to  wrap  thy  living  skeleton  in  purple,  and  rot  alive 
in  cloth  of  gold,  when  thy  clothes  shall  serve  only  to 
upbraid  the  uselessness  of  thy  limbs,  and  thy  rich  fare 
stand  before  thee  only  to  reproach  and  tantalize  the 
weakness  of  thy  stomach,  while  thy  consumption  is 
every  day  dressing  thee  up  for  the  worms  ? " 

Several  of  South's  sermons  are  devoted  to  peace.  In 
these  he  gives  a  masterly  reply  to  all  the  arguments 
UTired  in  favor  of  duels  and  revenffe.     Of  the  successful 


398  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

duellist  he  says,  —  "  How  fares  it  with  him  in  the  court 
of  conscience  ?  Is  he  able  to  keep  off  the  grim  arrests 
of  that  ?  Can  he  drown  the  cry  of  blood,  and  bribe  his 
own  thoughts  to  let  him  alone  ?  Can  he  fray  off  the 
vulture  from  his  breast,  that  night  and  day  is  gnawing 
his  heart,  and  wounding  it  with  ghastly  and  amazing 
reflections  ?  "  One  of  his  most  magnificent  images,  con- 
veyed with  a  rolling  grandeur  of  expression,  is  devoted 
to  the  illustration  of  the  seeming  strength  a  revengeful 
spirit  acquires  from  resistance.  "  As  a  storm  could  not 
be  so  hurtful,  were  it  not  for  the  opposition  of  trees  and 
houses,  it  ruins  nowhere  but  where  it  is  withstood  and 
repelled.  It  has,  indeed,  the  same  force,  when  it  passes 
over  the  rush,  or  the  yielding  ozier ;  but  it  does  not  roar 
nor  become  dreadful  till  it  grapples  with  the  oak,  and 
rattles  upon  the  tops  of  the  cedars."  Every  one  will 
confess  that  these  extracts  are  in  a  higher  strain  of 
rhetoric  than  is  commonly  heard  from  the  pulpit.  They 
are  not,  however,  isolated  beauties,  culled  from  a  wide 
waste  of  verbiage  and  triteness,  but  characteristics  of 
South's  general  style  of  thought  and  expression.  His 
sermons  are  full  of  them  ;  every  page  sparkles  with  wit, 
or  glows  with  eloquence. 

In  reading  the  writings  of  a  man  evincing  so  much 
reach  of  thought  and  strength  of  nature  as  South,  we 
cannot  but  be  impressed  with  the  injustice  done  to  his 
talents,  and  to  those  of  many  other  English  divines,  in 
the  scale  of  precedence  established  among  English 
authors.  Thus,  almost  every  commentator  on  English 
literature  refers  to  Dryden's  prose  works  as  evincing  the 
relative  perfection  to  which  style  had  arrived  in  the  age 
of  Charles  the  Second.  Men  like  Fox  and  Canning 
have  expressed  a  fanatical  admiration  of  his  choice  of 


south's  sermons.  399 

terms  and  his  power  of  composition.  Fox  would  not 
admit  a  word  into  his  history  of  Jfimes  the  Second  which 
hud  not  been  sanctioned  by  the  use  of  Dryden.  Yet,  if 
any  essay  of  Dryden  be  compared  with  a  sermon  by 
South  or  Barrow,  both  his  contemporaries,  no  practised 
eye  could  fail  to  discern  its  inferiority  in  force,  clearness, 
compactness,  and  richness  of  diction,  as  well  as  in  depth 
and  fertility  of  thought.  Wo  can  account  for  this  supe- 
rior reputation  enjoyed  by  a  really  inferior  prose-writer, 
only  by  supposing  that  mere  men  of  letters  are  indiffer- 
ent to  theological  literature,  and  imbued  with  a  prejudice 
that  sermons  afford  little  scope  for  originality,  eloquence, 
wit,  and  the  exhibition  of  striking  traits  of  individual 
character;  and  this  prejudice  we  conceive  to  have  arisen, 
in  no  slight  degree,  from  the  pious  dilutions  and  debili- 
ties served  weekly  in  this  age  from  so  many  pulpits,  by 
persons  styled  ministers  of  the  Gospel.  It  receives  no 
support  from  Taylor,  Chillingworth,  Hall,  South,  Bar- 
row, Butler,  Newman,  and  Channing,  —  men  separated 
from  each  other  by  as  marked  peculiarities  as  distingiiish 
any  celebrated  poets  and  essayists,  and  from  whose  ser- 
mons alone  an  argument  might  be  drawn  for  the  vigor 
and  versatility  of  the  human  intellect,  and  the  exhaust- 
less  wealth  of  expression  contained  in  the  English  lan- 
guage. Their  purely  literary  merit  places  them  far 
above  many  popular  writers,  who  have  had  the  luck  to 
obtain  a  full  recognition  of  their  talents,  by  studiously 
disconnecting  them  from  virtue  and  religion. 

This  indifference  to  the  treasures  of  thought  and  ex- 
pression which  lie  unworked  in  the  mines  of  old  English 
divinity,  we  deem  an  evil  of  some  magnitude,  as  it  indi- 
cates a  decline  in  the  standard  by  which  theological 
literature  is  now  tried.     It  is  very  easy  to  say,  that  this 


40U  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

indifference  is  to  be  attributed  to  sin  and  worldliness  in 
men ;  but  those  most  likely  to  urge  this  explanation  had 
better  decide  first  how  much  of  it  is  due  to  mediocrity 
and  dulness  in  preachers.  It  seems  to  us  that  theology 
is  fast  falling  behind  the  other  professions,  in  regard  to 
the  character  and  intelligence  demanded  in  its  professors. 
Depth,  comprehension,  a  large  knowledge  of  life,  skill  in 
dissecting  evidence  and  motives,  a  general  force  of  being 
which  never  yields  to  moral  or  intellectual  timidity,  are 
not  now  insisted  upon  as  necessary  to  the  clergyman. 
The  toleration  awarded  to  feeble  sermons  is  the  sharpest 
of  all  silent  satires  on  the  decline  of  divinity.  Forcible 
men,  men  possessing  sufficient  vigor  and  vitality  to  "  get 
along  in  the  world,"  rush  almost  universally  into  the 
other  professions.  Law  and  politics,  in  this  country, 
draw  into  their  vortex  hundreds  of  scholars  who  ought 
to  be  preachers  of  God's  word  both  to  law  and  politics. 
If  a  youth  of  education  does  not  evince  enough  under- 
standing to  sift  evidence  or  tear  away  the  defences  of  a 
sophism,  —  if  he  lacks  sufficient  nerve  to  badger  a  wit- 
ness or  amputate  a  leg, — his  parents  think  him  eminently 
calculated  for  that  other  profession,  whose  members  are 
to  scatter  the  reasonings  of  Hume  and  Diderot,  to  smite 
wickedness  in  high  places,  to  lay  bare  the  baseness  of 
accredited  sins,  to  brave  with  an  unflinching  front  the 
opposition  of  the  selfish  and  the  strong,  and  to  dare,  if 
need  be,  all  the  powers  of  earth  and  hell,  in  the  cause 
of  justice  and  truth.  This,  we  need  not  say,  is  all 
wrong.  If  the  powers  of  darkness  and  delusion  are 
strong  in  all  the  strength  of  bad  passions  and  sophistical 
vices,  let  them  be  opposed  by  men  whose  spirits  are  of 
the  "  greatest  size  and  divinest  mettle  ; "  by  men  who 
have  the  arm  to  smite  and  the  brain  to  know ;  by  men 


south's  sermons.  401 

whose  souls  can  thrld  all  those  mazes  of  deceit  through 
which  sin  eludes  the  chase  of  the  weak  in  heart  and  the 
small  in  mind.  Without  force  of  character,  there  can  be 
no  force  of  impression.  Words  never  gush  out  with 
persuasive  or  awful  power  from  a  feeble  heart.  Timid- 
ity, learned  ease,  a  command  of  certain  forms  of  expres- 
sion, faith  in  terms,  are  characteristics  of  too  many  men, 
whose  mission  is  to  save  souls  by  courage,  activity,  and 
power  of  conceiving  and  expressing  truth.  Since  the 
clergy  have  lost  the  hold  upon  the  mind  given  by  super- 
stition, have  they  sustained  their  legitimate  influence  by 
mental  and  moral  power  ?  Dry  and  dead  matter  of  fact, 
or  thin  dilutions  of  transcendental  sentiment,  are  the 
last  things  to  effect  this  object,  and  yet  they  seem  the 
first  things  which  our  modem  soldiers  of  the  cross  grasp 
with  their  trembling  fingers.  The  object,  indeed,  re- 
quires, that  a  good  portion  of  the  mind  and  genius  of 
the  land  should  be  enlisted  in  the  ranks  of  theology. 
We  want  neither  ignorant  fanaticism  nor  intelligent 
nonchalance. 

This  tameness  of  spirit  is  fast  extending  to  doctrine 
and  practice.  A  spurious  toleration  and  liberality  have 
supplanted  the  old  earnest  zeal.  We  live  in  an  era  of 
good  feeling.  The  word  unmentionable  to  ears  polite 
burns  the  fingers  of  those  who  should  launch  it  at  sin. 
The  meaning  attached  to  the  phrases  of  God's  wTath 
and  justice  shocks  our  modern  sensibilities.  Sorrow  and 
love  are  the  two  aspects  under  which  the  Deity  is  now 
contemplated.  The  terrors  and  threatenings  of  the  law 
are  hidden  in  a  rose-colored  mist  of  rhetoric.  The  great 
object  of  the  age  is  to  remove  everything  from  the  sur- 
face of  society  which  offends  the  eye  of  refined  taste. 
Spiritual  sins  have  been  witixdrawn  from  the  front  rank 
26 


402  ESSAYS   AND    REVIEWS. 

of  transgressions,  and  sins  of  the  senses  promoted  to 
their  place.  Every  person  of  stern  force  of  character 
rides  over  the  clergy.  A  man  who  gets  inflamed  with 
any  earnest  thought  speeds  from  his  denomination,  to 
rave  men  into  some  new  heresy.  As  it  would  be  intol- 
erant to  say  that  he  was  presumptuous  or  irreligious,  he 
is  to  be  treated  with  the  utmost  politeness,  or  with  a 
mild  and  whining  opposition ;  and  even  this  inoffensive 
ineffectiveness  of  admonition,  this  chiding  in  the  nerve- 
less terms  of  a  canting  toleration,  does  not  prevent  its 
object  from  setting  up  as  a  martyr,  and  exploding  his 
inward  agonies  constantly  in  the  public  ear.  The  differ- 
ence between  the  ancient  and  modern  martyr,  is  the 
difference  between  being  raked  and  scathed  by  "  balls  of 
consuming  wildfire,"  and  being  gently  peppered  by  pop- 
guns. To  escape  the  imputation  of  bigotry,  preachers 
slide  softly  into  the  opposite  stupidity  of  indifference. 
The  effect  which  inward  sin  has  in  shaping  opinions  few 
dare  to  analyze.  A  strong,  hardy,  wholesome  zeal,  inti- 
mating a  living  belief  in  the  importance  of  any  particular 
set  of  doctrines,  and  a  thorough-going  force  of  soul  in 
their  promulgation,  careless  of  the  melodious  whine  of 
the  mild,  and  the  more  dissonant  yell  of  the  bad,  —  this 
is  becoming  disgracefully  rare. 

It  is  easy  to  calculate  the  effect  of  such  timidity  and 
weakness  on  the  literature  of  theology.  The  mediocrity 
of  sermons  cannot  be  laid  to  their  subjects.  Nothing 
can  be  clearer  than  that  divinity  affords  the  widest  scope 
for  the  most  various  powers  and  accomplishments,  and 
presents  the  strongest  motives  to  their  development  and 
cultivation.  In  the  literature  of  every  age,  theology 
should  assert  its  grandeur  and  power,  in  masterpieces  of 
thought  and  composition,  which  men  of  letters  would  be 


south's  sermons.  403 

compelled  to  read,  in  order  to  deserve  the  name.  Elo- 
quence on  almost  every  other  subject  is  but  a  species  of 
splendid  fanaticism.  It  exists  by  detaching  from  the 
whole  of  nature  and  life  some  special  thing,  and  ex- 
aggerating it  out  of  its  natural  size  and  relations,  to 
produce  a  transient  effect.  But  to  the  preacher,  phi- 
losophy and  eloquence  are  identical.  His  task  is  to 
restore  the  most  awful  of  all  realities  to  its  rightful 
supremacy,  —  the  dominion  it  enjoys  according  to  the 
Heaven-ordained  laws  by  which  the  world  was  made. 
The  written  and  spoken  literature,  which  is  the  record 
of  this  eloquent  wisdom,  should  be  characterized  by  the 
first  and  greatest  merit  of  composition,  vitality.  It  is 
this  vitality,  this  living  energy,  this  beating  of  the  brave 
heart  beneath  the  burning  words,  which  is  the  immor- 
tal part  of  literature.  Strange  that  it  should  be  most 
wanting  in  those  compositions  where  it  would  be  most 
naturally  sought !  There  is  more  of  it  in  many  a  speech 
by  some  political  enthusiast,  thrown  ofT  to  save  a  party 
measure,  than  in  many  a  sermon  by  some  clerical  icicle, 
intended  to  save  a  human  soul.  Sydney  Smith,  at  the 
commencement  of  the  present  century,  described  the 
current  sermons  of  his  own  church  as  being  chiefly 
distinguished  by  decent  debility  ;  and  we  have  repeat- 
edly waded  through  sermons,  on  the  most  kindling  and 
soul-animating  themes,  without  being  able  to  realize  that 
the  writer  had  any  soul.  Heaven  and  hell,  righteous- 
ness, temperance,  and  judgment  to  come,  seemed  to 
excite  in  him  no  more  inspiring  emotions  than  might 
have  been  raised  from  meditating  on  the  mutations  of 
trade.  As  it  is  unfortunately  impossihlo  for  dulness  at 
this  day  to  shield  itself  from  criticism,  by  tossing  the 
names  of  scoffer  and  atheist  at  the  critic,  we  humblv 


404  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

suggest  that  it  would  be  wiser  to  elude  the  charge  by 
infusing  more  energy  and  unction  into  the  thing  criti- 
cized. And  we  know  of  nothing  more  calculated  to 
produce  this  desirable  effect  than  the  study  of  a  few 
sermonizers  like  South,  and  a  hearty  emulation  of  their 
learning  and  power ;  and  in  all  discourses,  on  all  sub- 
jects, to  recollect  that  "no  man's  dulness  can  be  his 
duty,  much  less  his  perfection." 


COLERIDGE  AS  A  PHILOSOPHICAL 
CRITIC/ 

The  present  century  has  been  eminently  characterized 
by  its  critical  spirit.  Institutions  and  opinions,  men, 
manners,  and  literature,  have  all  been  subjected  to  the 
most  exhausting  analysis.  The  moment  a  thing  becomes 
a  fixed  fact  in  the  community,  criticism  breaks  it  to  pieces, 
curious  to  scan  its  elements.  It  is  not  content  to  admire 
the  man  until  satisfied  with  his  appearance  as  a  skeleton. 
The  science  of  criticism  is  thus  in  danger  of  becoming  a 
kind  of  intellectual  anatomy.  The  living  body  of  a  poem 
or  institution  is  dissected,  and  its  principle  of  life  sought 
in  a  process  which  annihilates  life  at  its  first  step.  An 
analysis  thus  employing  no  other  implements  but  those 
furnished  by  the  understanding,  must  imperfectly  inter- 
pret what  has  proceeded  from  the  imagination.  The  soul 
ever  eludes  the  knife  of  the  dissector,  however  keen  and 
cunning. 

The  charlatanism  which  spreads  and  sprawls  in  almost 
every  department  of  literature  and  life  is  doubtless  one 
cause  of  this  analytical  spirit.  A  man  placed  in  our 
century  finds  himself  surrounded  by  quackeries.  Colli- 
sion with  these  begets  in  him  a  feeling  of  impatience  and 
petulant  opposition,  and  ends  often  in  forcing  hwa.  to 

*  Ainerican  RexUie,  June,  1846. 


406  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

apply  individual  tests  to  all  outward  things.  By  this 
course,  he  at  least  preserves  his  own  personality  amid  the 
whiz  and  burr  around  him.  None  of  that  spurious  toler- 
ation which  comes  from  feebleness  of  thought,  or  laxity 
of  will,  or  indifference  to  truth,  makes  him  lend  his  ear 
to  every  moan  of  the  noodle,  and  every  promise  of  the 
quack.  But  this  self-consciousness,  so  jealous  of  en- 
croachment and  battling  against  all  external  influences 
shuts  his  mind  to  new  truth  as  well  as  old  error.  He 
preserves  his  common  sense  at  the  expense  of  his  com- 
prehension. He  is  sensible  and  barren.  His  tiresome 
self-repetition  becomes,  at  last,  as  hollow  a  mockery  as 
the  clap-trap  of  the  charlatan. 

This  tendency  to  individualism  —  this  testing  the 
value  of  all  things  by  their  agreement  or  discordance 
with  individual  modes  of  thinking  —  subjects  the  author 
to  hard  conditions.  He  is  necessarily  viewed  from  an 
antagonistic  position,  and  considered  an  impostor  until 
proved  a  reality.  We  think  he  is  determined  to  fool  us 
if  he  can,  and  are  therefore  most  delighted  and  refreshed 
when  we  have  analyzed  the  seeming  genius  down  into 
the  real  quack.  The  life  of  the  intellect  thus  becomes 
negative  rather  than  positive  —  devoted  to  the  exposure 
of  error,  not  to  the  assimilation  of  truth.  Men  of  strong 
minds  in  this  generation  have  established  a  sort  of  intel- 
lectual feudal  system  —  each  baron  walled  in  from  ap- 
proach, and  sallying  out  only  to  prey  upon  his  brothers. 
Everybody  being  on  his  guard  against  everybody  else, 
an  author  has  to  fight  his  way  into  esteem.  He  must 
have  sufficient  force  of  being  to  be  victorious  over  others ; 
and  his  readers  are  the  spoils  of  his  conquest.  He  attacks 
minds  intrenched  in  their  own  thoughts  and  prejudices, 
and  determined  not  to  yield  as  long  as  their  defences  will 


COLERrOGE    AS    A    PHrLOSOPIIICAL   CRITIC.  407 

hold  out.  The  poetaster  in  Wycherley's  play  binds  the 
widow  to  a  chair,  in  order  that  she  may  be  compelled  to 
listen  to  his  well-penned  verses  ;  and  a  resisting  criticism, 
somewhat  after  the  manner  of  the  widow,  is  practised 
unconsciously  by  most  educated  readers.  It  is  mortify- 
ing to  become  the  vassal  of  a  superior  nature ;  to  feel 
the  understanding  bowed  and  bent  before  a  conquering 
intellect,  and  be  at  once  petulant  and  impotent.  Butler's 
reasoning  and  Milton's  rhetoric,  fastening  themselves  as 
they  do  on  the  mind  or  heart,  become  at  times  distasteful, 
from  the  fact  of  our  incapacity  to  resist  their  power.  It  is 
from  men  of  education  and  ability  that  great  genius  experi- 
ences most  opposition.  The  multitude  can  scarcely  resist 
a  powerful  nature,  but  are  forced  into  the  current  of  its 
thoughts  and  impulses.  The  educated,  on  the  contrary, 
have  implements  of  defence.  Their  minds  have  become 
formal  and  hardened.  Coleridge  felt  this  deeply,  when 
he  exclaimed,  "Who  will  dare  to  force  his  way  out  of  the 
crowd  —  not  of  the  mere  vulgar,  but  of  the  vain  and 
banded  aristocracy  of  intellect  —  and  presume  to  join  the 
almost  supernatural  beings  that  stand  by  themselves 
aloof?"  This  aristocracy  furnishes  generally  the  cham- 
pions of  accredited  opinions  and  processes.  It  flouts  the 
innovations  of  genius  and  philanthropy,  as  well  as  the 
fooleries  of  knavery  and  ignorance.  It  desires  nothing 
new,  good  or  bad. 

The  influence  of  this  spirit  on  criticism  in  the  present 
century  has  been  incalculable.  In  those  cases  where 
personal  and  partisan  feelings  have  not  converted  literary 
judgments  into  puflTs  or  libels,  the  analytical  and  unsym- 
pathizing  \node  in  which  critical  inquiries  have  been 
prosecuted  has  been  unjust  to  original  genius.  Poets 
have  been  tried  by  tests  which  their  writings  were  never 


408  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

intended  to  meet.  Where  a  work  is  a  mere  collection 
of  parts,  loosely  strung  together,  and  animated  by  no 
central  principle  of  vitality,  analysis  has  only  to  cut  the 
string  to  destroy  its  rickety  appearance  of  life.  As  a 
large  majority  of  productions,  purporting  to  come  from 
the  human  mind,  are  heterogenous,  not  homogeneous, 
mechanical,  not  organic,  —  the  works  of  what  Fichte 
calls  the  hodmen  of  letters,  —  the  course  pursued  by  the 
critic,  at  least,  exposes  deception.  But  the  process  by 
which  imposture  may  be  exposed  is  not  necessarily  that 
by  which  truth  can  be  evolved.  A  life  spent  in  examin- 
ing deceptions  and  quackeries  produces  little  fruit.  A 
well-trained  power  to  discern  excellence  would  include 
all  the  negative  advantages  of  the  other,  and  end  also  in 
the  positive  benefit  of  mental  enlargement  and  elevation. 
Reading  and  judgment  result  in  nothing  but  barrenness, 
when  they  simply  confirm  the  critic's  opinion  of  himself. 
The  mind  is  enriched  only  by  assimilation,  and  true 
intellectual  independence  comes  not  from  the  complacent 
dulness  of  the  egotist.  The  mind  that  would  be  mon- 
archical should  not  be  content  with  a  petty  domain,  but 
have  whole  provinces  of  thought  for  its  dependencies. 
To  comprehend  another  mind,  we  must  first  be  tolerant 
to  Its  peculiarities,  and  place  ourselves  in  the  attitude  of 
learners.  After  that,  our  judgment  will  be  of  value. 
The  thing  itself  must  be  known  before  its  excellence  can 
be  estimated ;  and  it  must  be  reproduced  before  it  can 
be  known.  By  contemplation  rather  than  analysis,  by 
self-forge tfulness  rather  than  self-confidence,  does  the 
elusive  and  ethereal  life  of  genius  yield  itself  to  the  mind 
of  the  critic. 

If  we  examine  the  writings  of  some  of  the  most  popu- 
lar critics  of  the  present  century,  we  shall  find  continual 


COLEBIIX.t    AS   A    PHILOSOPHICAL   CRITIC.  409 

proofs  of  the  narrowness  to  which  we  have  referred.  In 
a  vast  majority  of  cases,  the  criticism  is  merely  the  grat- 
'm<r  of  one  individual  mind  against  another.  The  critic 
understands  little  but  himself,  and  his  skill  consists  in  a 
dextrous  substitution  of  his  own  peculiarities  for  the  laws 
of  taste  and  beauty,  or  in  sneeringly  alluding  to  the  dif- 
ference between  the  work  he  is  reviewing  and  works  of 
established  fame.  Lord  Jeffrey  is  an  instance.  The 
position  in  which  he  was  placed,  as  editor  of  the  most 
influential  review  ever  published,  was  one  requiring  the 
most  comprehensive  thought  and  the  most  various  attain- 
ments. At  the  period  the  Edinburgh  Review  was 
started,  the  literary  republic  swarmed  with  a  host  of 
vain  and  feeble  poetasters,  whose  worthlessness  invited 
destruction ;  but  in  the  midst  of  these  there  were  others, 
the  exponents  of  a  new  and  original  school  of  poetry, 
whose  genius  required  interpretation.  Now,  the  test  to 
be  applied  to  a  critic,  under  such  circumstances,  is  plain. 
Was  his  taste  catholic  ?  Did  he  perceive  and  elucidate 
excellence,  as  well  as  detect  and  punish  pretension? 
Did  he  see  the  dawn  on  the  mountain  tops,  as  well  as 
the  will-o'-the-wisps  in  the  bogs  beneath  ?  Did  he  have 
any  principles  on  which  to  ground  his  judgments,  apart 
from  the  impertinences  of  his  personality  ?  We  think 
not.  Not  in  his  writings  are  we  to  look  for  a  philosophy 
of  criticism.  He  could  see  that  the  consumptive  hectic 
on  the  cheek  of  mediocrity  was  not  the  ruddy  glow  of 
genius.  He  could  torture  feebleness  and  folly  on  the 
rack  of  his  ridicule.  He  could  demonstrate  that  Mr. 
William  Hayley  and  Mr.  Robert  Merry  were  poor  suc- 
cessors of  Pope  and  Dryden.  But  when  he  came  to  con- 
sider men  like  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge,  we  find  the 
nimble-witted  critic   to  be,  after  all,  blind   in   one  eye 


410 


ESSAYS  AMD  REVIEWS. 


Here  were  authors  destined  to  work  a  great  poetical  rev 
olution,  to  give  a  peculiar  character  to  the  literature  of  a 
generation,  to  have  followers  even  among  men  of  genius 
In  their  earlier  efforts,  doubtless,  grave  faults  might  have 
been  discovered.  Their  thoughts  were  often  vitiated  by 
mental  bombast ;  their  expression,  by  simplicity  that  bor- 
dered on  silliness,  by  obscurity  that  sometimes  tumbled 
into  the  void  inane.  But  amidst  all  their  errors,  indica 
tions  were  continually  given  of  the  vital  powers  of 
genius,  —  of  minds  which,  to  the  mere  forms  and  colors 
of  nature,  could 

"  Add  the  gleam. 
The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land. 
The  consecration  and  the  poet's  dream." 

Now,  these  poets  Jeffrey  judged  before  he  interpreted. 
His  quick  glance  over  the  superfices  of  things,  and  his 
faculty  of  rapid  empirical  generalization,  enabled  him  to 
present  their  defects  before  the  eye  in  exaggerated  pro- 
portions ;  but  their  genius  merely  hummed  in  his  ears. 
He  was  never  borne  along  with  the  glad  and  exulting 
song  in  which  they  hymned  the  wondrousness  and 
beauty  of  nature ;  his  soul  never  lifted  itself  up  to  those 
regions  where  their  spirits  roved  and  shaped  in  the 
ecstasies  of  contemplation.  In  all  his  various  critiques, 
he  never  touched  the  heart  of  their  mystery, — never 
comprehended  their  individuality,  their  humanity,  their 
spirituality,  the  organic  life  of  their  works.  He  either 
could  not,  or  would  not,  reproduce  in  his  own  mind  those 
moods  of  thought  and  feeling  upon  whose  validity  the 
truth  of  their  poetry  was  to  be  tried ;  consequently,  he 
merely  shoots  squibs  when  he  seems  to  be  delivering 
decisions.  Though  he  could  handle  a  wide  variety  of 
topics,  and  was  generally  adroit  and  plausible  in  their 


COLERIDGE    AS   A   PHII/JSOPHICAL   CRITIC.  411 

management,  his  comprehension  was  simply  of  the  8ur» 
feces  of  things. 

Now,  the  man  for  whose  opinions  Jeffrey  had  the  least 
regard  is  the  true  exponent  of  the  philosophical  criticism 
of  the  century,  —  Coleridge.  He  was  the  first  who  made 
criticism  interpretative  both  of  the  spirit  and  form  of 
works  of  genius,  the  first  who  founded  his  principles  in 
the  nature  of  things.  Though  his  views  strikingly  coin- 
cide with  those  of  Schlegel,  they  were  formed  and  pub- 
licly expressed  before  that  author's  lectures  on  the  Drama 
were  delivered.  Hazlitt,  who  delighted  to  vex  Cole- 
ridge, was  still  very  indignant  when  the  latter  was 
accused  of  pilfering  from  Schlegel,  testifying  to  the  fact 
of  his  originality  from  the  most  positive  knowledge. 
Amid  a  host  of  professional  critics,  it  was  reserved  for  a 
poet  to  declare  the  true  principles  on  which  literary 
judgments  should  be  grounded. 

Coleridge's  mind  was  eminently  interpretative.  He 
never  was  contented  with  knowing  merely  the  surfaces 
of  things,  but  his  intellect  pierced  beneath  to  their  laws. 
He  possessed  the  power  of  learning  from  other  minds, 
A  creed,  a  poem,  an  institution,  which  had  met  the 
wants  of  any  body  of  people,  required,  in  his  view,  to  be 
explained  before  it  was  censured.  The  reason  of  its 
influence  must  be  given.  He  was  not  contented  with 
judging  it  from  his  own  point  of  view,  but  looked  at  it 
from  its  author's  position.  He  saw  that,  to  understand 
the  events  of  history  and  the  masterpieces  of  art,  it  was 
necessary  to  bring  to  them  a  mind  willing  to  learn,  — 
that  knowledge  began  in  self-distrust,  —  that  individual 
experience  is  a  poor  measure  of  the  resources  of  the  race, 
— ^and  that  ideas  and  principles  varied  their  forms  with 
Tariations  in  the  circuinstances  of  mankind.     He  knevi 


412  ESSi.fS   AND   REVIEWS. 

that  "  to  appreciate  the  defects  of  a  great  mind,  it  was 
necessary  to  understand  previously  its  characteristic 
excellences."  He  had  a  clear  notion  of  the  difference, 
lying  at  the  base  of  all  poetic  criticism,  between  rmchan' 
ical  regularity  and  organic  form  ;  and  in  the  disregard 
of  this  distinction  by  critics,  he  saw  the  cause  of  the 
numberless  fallacies  and  falsities  which  vitiated  their 
judgments.  The  form  or  body  of  a  work  of  genius  he 
considered  as  physiognomical  of  the  soul  within ;  that  it 
was  not  a  collection  of  parts,  cunningly  put  together,  but 
a  growth  from  a  central  principle  of  life ;  and  that  every 
production  of  the  mind,  which  was  animated  with  life, 
was  to  be  judged  by  its  organic  laws.  This,  of  course, 
brings  the  critic  to  the  very  heart  of  the  matter, — the 
consideration  of  the  vital  powers  of  genius ;  those  mys- 
terious powers  of  growth  and  production,  which  are  iden- 
tical with  the  laws  by  which  they  work,  and  whose  prod- 
ucts, therefore,  are  not  to  be  tried  by  laws  external  to 
themselves.  "  Could  a  rule  be  given  from  without,  poe- 
try would  cease  to  be  poetry,  and  sink  into  a  mechanical 
art." 

Without  this  doctrine  of  vital  powers,  criticism  becomes 
mere  gibberish.  Animated  and  informed  by  these  vital 
powers,  commonplace  becomes  poetry,  and  ritual  relig- 
ion. The  first  thing  to  be  settled,  in  reviewing  a  compo- 
sition, is  its  vitality.  Has  it  life  ?  Did  it  grow  to  its 
present  shape,  or  was  it  merely  put  together  ?  It  is  use- 
less to  criticize  a  corpse.  Now,  if  a  poem  have  life,  the 
principle  of  growth  and  assimilation,  then  criticism 
should  first  develop  from  within  the  laws  of  its  being. 
The  question  of  its  relative  excellence  comes  afterwards. 
We  must  first  discover  what  it  is,  and  not  decide  that  by 
saying  what  it  is  not.     We  must  pass  into  the  mysteri 


CfLKRlDGE    AS    A    PHILOSOPHICAL   CRITIC.  413 

0U8  depths  of  the  mind  in  which  it  was  matured,  see  the 
fountain-springs  of  its  thouij^hts  and  emotions,  and  discern 
its  own  laws  of  growth  and  production.  The  peculiar 
individuality  of  the  man,  the  circumstances  of  his  being, 
not  our  peculiar  individuality  and  the  circumstances  of 
our  being,  must  be  investigated,  and,  in  imagination, 
lived.  We  must  learn  from  what  point,  and  under  what 
influences,  he  looked  on  nature  and  human  life,  in  order 
rightly  to  interpret  his  production.  A  tree,  growing  by 
virtue  of  inward  properties,  has,  we  all  feel,  an  independ- 
ent existence,  and  is  itself  its  own  apology  and  defence. 
So  with  a  true  poem,  instinct  with  vitality.  To  judge  it 
simply  on  its  agreement  or  disagreement  with  the  form 
of  other  poems,  is  about  as  wise  as  to  flout  the  willow 
because  it  is  not  the  oak.  Besides,  what  are  called  the 
"  rules  "  of  poetry  were  once  the  organic  laws  of  indi- 
vidual works.  The  first  poet  furnished  the  rules  of  the 
first  critic.  The  essential  originality  and  life  of  a  poem 
consists  in  containing  within  itself  the  laws  by  which  it 
is  to  be  judged.  To  mfike  these  laws  the  tests  of  other 
poems,  produced  by  different  minds,  under  different  cir- 
cumstances, in  diflferent  ages  and  countries,  is  to  convert 
the  results  of  freedom  into  the  instruments  of  slavery, 
and  doom  the  intellect  to  barrenness  and  death.  In 
almost  every  instance  where  a  man  of  genius  has  given 
the  law  to  others,  the  literature  formed  on  his  model  has 
dwindled  into  mechanical  imitation,  and  only  been  resus- 
citated by  rebellion. 

Nature  furnishes  exhaustless  arguments  against  the 
critical  narrowness  which  would  kill  new  beauty  by 
accredited  reputations.  The  faculty  of  perceiving  beauty 
in  a  variety  of  different  objects  and  forms,  is  the  source 
of   true   delight  and   improvement    in    literature,  as  in 


414  ESSAYS  AND   REVIEWS. 

scenery.  An  everlasting  sameness  and  repetition  in 
either  would  be  intolerable.  In  one  sentence  Coleridge 
has  given  the  true  method  of  investigation  :  —  "  Follow 
nature  in  variety  of  kinds."  As  nature  is  inexhaustiblo 
in  its  variety,  so  are  the  possible  combinations  of  the 
human  mind.  If  we  could  see  all  the  poems  that  exist 
potentially,  nature  and  man  being  given,  we  should  drop 
our  critical  rules,  though  they  were  as  wide  as  Homer 
and  Shakspeare.  The  man  of  true  taste  enlarges  his 
apprehension  to  receive  the  new  poem,  as  readily  as  to 
receive  the  new  landscape.  The  Alps  breed  in  him  no 
contempt  of  the  prairies.  He  has  something  in  him 
which  answers  to  Lake  Leman,  as  well  as  to  the  ocean. 
He  has  no  quarrel  with  Chaucer,  because  he  loves  Words- 
worth. He  feels  the  unity  of  beauty,  and  love,  and 
grandeur,  amid  all  the  differences  of  forms;  feels  it, 
indeed,  all  the  more  intensely,  with  every  glimpse  of  it 
in  a  new  object.  The  swan  and  dove  are  both  beautiful, 
but  it  would  be  absurd,  says  Coleridge,  pertinently,  "  to 
institute  a  comparison  between  their  separate  claims  to 
beauty  from  any  abstract  rule  common  to  both,  without 
reference  to  the  life  and  being  of  the  animals  themselves , 
or,  as  if,  having  first  seen  the  dove,  we  abstracted  its  out- 
lines, gave  them  a  false  generalization,  called  them  the 
principles  or  ideal  of  bird  beauty,  and  proceeded  to  criticize 
the  swan  and  the  eagle."  It  was  from  a  method  similar 
to  this  that  critics,  mesmerized  by  Pope  and  Goldsmith, 
dictated  laws  to  Wordsworth  and  Shelley,  and  measured 
the  genius  of  Shakspeare  and  Spenser.  It  was  this 
method  which  made  two  generations  rest  contented  with 
that  precious  morsel  of  criticism  on  Shakspeare,  that  he 
was  a  man  of  great  beauties,  balanced  by  great  faults  — 
a  man  of  the  supremest  genius,  and  execrable  taste !     in 


COLERIDGE    AS    A    PHILOSOPHICAL   CTIITTC.  415 

Tiew  of  the  stupidities  into  which  acvte  but  narrow 
undei"standing:s  have  fallen,  when  they  have  mistaken 
the  range  of  their  own  perceptions  for  the  extent  of  the 
universe,  we  may  exclaim,  with  Coleridge,  —  "  O  !  few 
liave  there  been,  among  critics,  who  have  followed  with 
the  eije  of  imagination  the  imperishable  and  ever-wander- 
ing spirit  of  poetry  through  its  various  metempsychoses 
and  consequent  metamorphoses,  or  who  have  rejoiced  in 
tlie  light  of  a  clear  perception  at  beholding  with  each 
new  birth,  with  each  rare  avatar,  the  human  race  form 
to  itself  a  new  body,  by  assimilating  materials  of  nourish- 
ment out  of  its  new  circumstances,  and  work  for  itself 
new  organs  of  power  appropriate  to  the  new  sphere  of  its 
motion  and  activity.'* 

We  are  convinced  that  the  true  philopophical  princi- 
ples of  criticism  are  those  implied  in  the  instinctive  pro- 
cesses of  every  tolerant  reader  of  taste.  The  mind, 
untrammelled  by  forms  and  rules  which  bigotry  has  put 
into  it,  has  a  sense  for  the  beauty  of  all  new  objects,  and 
sees  them  in  relation  to  their  own  laws.  Imperfect  intel- 
lectual statements  of  the  inward  sense  of  beauty,  and 
the  hardening  down  of  feelings  into  rules,  cannot  alto- 
gether blunt  the  natural  processes  even  of  the  critic's  own 
imagination.  Besides,  the  mode  we  have  indicated  does 
not  ignore  rules  and  principles,  except  when  rules  and 
principles  are  without  foundation  in  nature.  It  deduces 
its  canons  of  criticism  from  premises  lying  deep  in  the 
nature  of  man.  It  pierces  to  that  mysterious  region  of 
the  soul  in  which  poetry  and  religion,  and  all  that  tran- 
scends actual  life,  have  their  home.  It  disregards  indi- 
vidual dictation  and  petulance,  and  empirical  rules ;  but 
it  does  not  disregard  the  nature  of  things.  It  applies 
tests,  aud  severe  ones,  but  its  tests  are  the  laws,  in  obedi- 


416  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

ence  to  which  the  creative  and  modifying  powers  of  the 
soul  act.  And  these  laws  it  philosophically  investigates 
and  systematizes.  It  requires  unity  in  every  work  of 
art,  because  unity  is  the  mark  of  organization.  It  tol- 
erates the  widest  variety  of  kinds,  but  it  demands  that 
each  shall  have  organic  life.  It  detects  deviations  in  a 
composition  from  its  own  law.  It  discriminates  between 
what  properly  belongs  to  a  work  of  art,  —  what  in  it  has 
been  developed  from  its  central  principle  of  vitality,  — 
and  the  accretions  adhering  to  it,  but  not  inhering  m  it. 
When  it  condemns  poems,  it  condemns  them  from  theii 
•'  inappropriateness  to  their  own  end  and  being,  —  their 
want  of  significance  as  symbols  or  physiognomy."  By 
assuming  the  writer's  own  point  of  view,  it  has  a  sense 
of  those  imperfections  of  which  he  himself  is  painfully 
conscious ;  discerns  the  distance  between  the  law  and  its 
embodiment;  and  preserves  the  dignity  of  the  ideal  by 
knowing  the  possibilities  as  well  as  the  products  of  the 
imagination.  Every  form  of  beauty,  in  nature  or  art, 
suggests  something  higher  than  itself. 

In  Coleridge's  criticisms  on  Shakspeare,  in  his  "  Bio- 
graphia  Literaria,"  and  in  portions  of  his  other  prose 
works,  we  have  a  distinct  enunciation,  often  in  sentences 
of  great  splendor  and  energy,  of  the  leading  principles  of 
this  philosophical  criticism.  His  prose,  to  be  sure,  is  full 
of  provoking  faults,  which  few  mere  readers  can  tolerate. 
It  is  sometimes  diffuse,  obscure,  and  languid :  branching 
off  into  episodes  and  digressions,  and  not  always  held 
together  by  any  perceptible  thread  of  thought.  Most 
students  bring  little  from  it  but  headaches.  He  is  at 
once  one  of  the  best  and  one  of  the  worst  of  writers. 
He  continually  gives  evidence  of  a  power  of  composition, 
of  which  his  prose  works,  on  the  whole,  are   but  imper- 


COLERIDGE    AS    A    PHILOSOPHICAL    CRITIC.  417 

feet  exponents.  Sentences,  full  of  muscular  lite  and 
energy,  embodying  principles  of  the  deepest  import,  — 
words  which  come  bright  and  rapid  as  liglitning,  splitting 
the  "  unwedgable  and  gnarled  "  problem,  —  are  often 
seen  in  his  writings,  in  connection  with  unintelligible 
profundities  and  disordered  metaphysics.  The  "  Biogra- 
phia  Literaria"  no  one  can  read  without  being  enriched, 
and  without  being  bored.  Tried  by  his  own  critical 
principles,  it  wants  unity,  clearness,  and  proportion.  He 
expends  page  upon  page  of  what  most  readers  would  con- 
sider meaningless  metaphysical  disquisition,  preparatory 
to  a  definition  of  imagination,  and  then  stops  short  with 
saying  that,  at  present,  he  can  merely  give  the  result  of 
his  inquiries.  That  result  is  darker  than  the  processes. 
"  The  primary  Imagination,"  he  says,  "  I  hold  to  be  the 
living  Power  and  prime  Agent  of  all  human  Perception, 
and  as  a  repetition  in  the  finite  mind  of  the  eternal  act 
of  creation,  in  the  infinite  I  Am."  We  do  not  say  that 
this  and  other  passages  are  without  any  meaning,  but 
the  meaning  is  not  clear.  It  is  not  unfolded,  but  wrapped 
up.  The  words  buzz  and  whirl  in  the  brain,  but  give  no 
distinct  ideas.  The  writer  does  not  really  communicate 
his  thought,  and  therefore  the  first  object  of  writing  is 
overlooked.  There  is  no  subordination  of  the  parts  to 
the  whole,  but  a  splendid  confusion. 

Still,  in  this  book,  but  more  especially  in  the  frag- 
ments on  Shakspeare,  Coleridge  has  given  us  the  results 
of  his  investigations  into  poetry  and  art,  though  his 
metaphysical  analysis  of  the  faculties  to  which  they 
relate  is  imperfect.  His  statements  are  better  than  his 
disquisif'ons  —  his  appeal  to  consciousness  better  than 
nis  reasonings.  The  truths  that  he  grasped  in  contem 
platioii,  he  could  not  always  succeed  in  legitimatizing  in 
27 


418  ESSAYS   AND   REVIEWS. 

metaphysical  forms.  But  his  theory  of  the  vital  powers 
of  genius  ;  his  definitions  of  imagination  and  fancy ;  his 
felicitous  distinctions,  such  as  that  which  he  makes 
between  illusion  and  delusion  ;  his  view  of  the  nature, 
scope  and  object  of  poetry ;  his  acute  perception  of  the 
difference  between  the  classical  and  romantic  drama,  the 
essence  of  the  first  consisting  in  "  the  sternest  separation 
of  the  diverse  in  kind  and  the  disparate  in  degree,  whilst 
the  other  delights  in  interlacing,  by  a  rainbow-like  trans- 
fusion of  hues,  the  one  with  the  other ;  "  his  elaborate 
criticism  on  the  genius  of  Wordsworth  ;  his  view  of  the 
mind  of  Shakspeare ;  his  criticism  of  single  dramas,  and 
his  "  endeavor  to  make  out  the  title  of  the  English 
drama,  as  created  by  and  existing  in  Shakspeare,  to  the 
supremacy  of  dramatic  excellence  in  general ;  "  his  defi- 
nition of  poetry  as  the  art  of  representing,  in  measured 
words,  "  external  nature  and  human  thoughts,  both 
relatively  to  human  affections,  so  as  to  cause  the  produc- 
tion of  as  great  immediate  pleasure  in  each  part  as  is 
compatible  with  the  largest  possible  sum  of  pleasure  in  the 
whole  ; "  his  explanation  of  the  se7isuous  element  of  poetry 
as  the  "  union,  harmonious  melting  down  and  fusion, 
of  the  sensual  in  the  spiritual,"  —  all  are  replete  with 
kiiovledge  and  suggestive  thought.  When  Coleridge 
speaks  of  the  poetical  powers,  we  are  constantly  reminded, 
by  his  very  language,  that  he  transcribes  his  own  con- 
sciousness, and  speaks  from  authority,  not  as  the  review- 
ers ;  as  when  he  refers  to  the  "  violences  of  excitement " 
—  "  the  laws  of  association  of  feeling  with  thought  "— 
"  the  starts  and  strange  far-Jlights  of  the  assimilative 
power  on  the  slightest  and  least  obvious  likeness  pre- 
sented by  thoughts,  words  and  objects" — "  the  original 
gift  of  spreading  the  tone,  the  atmosphere,  and  with  it, 


(X)L1!BIDGE    AS    A    PHILOSOPITCAL    CRITIC.  419 

the  depth  and  height  of  the  ideal  world,  around  forms, 
incidents  and  situations,  of  which,  for  the  common  view, 
custom  had  bedimmed  all  the  lustre,  had  dried  up  the 
sparkle  and  the  dew-drops."  Also,  in  speaking  of  the 
language  of  the  highest  poetry,  he  calls  it  intermediate 
between  arbitrary  language,  mere  "  modes  of  recalUng 
an  object,  seen  or  felt,  and  the  language  of  nature  —  a 
subordinate  Lngos — that  was  in  the  beginning,  and  was 
with  the  thing  it  represented,  and  was  the  thing  it 
represented.  It  is  the  blending  arbitrary  language  with 
that  of  nature,  not  merely  recalling  the  cold  notion  of  a 
thing,  but  expressing  the  reality  of  it  —  language  which 
is  itself  a  part  of  that  which  it  manifests."  In  reading 
this,  and  also  Wordsworth's  definition  of  language,  as 
the  "  incarnation  of  thought,"  not  its  dress,  we  feel  that 
it  is  not  observation  but  consciousness  that  speaks. 

To  Coleridge  belongs  the  honor  of  emancipating  Shak- 
spearian  criticism  in  England  from  its  old  bonds.  He 
showed  that  the  error  of  the  classical  critics  consisted  in 
"  mistaking  for  the  essentials  of  the  Greek  stage,  certam 
rules  which  the  wise  poets  imposed  on  themselves,  in 
order  to  render  all  the  remaining  parts  of  the  drama  con- 
sistent with  those  which  had  been  forced  upon  them  by 
circumstances  independent  of  their  will ;  out  of  which 
circumstances  the  drama  itself  rose.  The  circumstances 
in  Shakspeare's  time  were  different,  which  it  was  equally 
out  of  his  power  to  alter,  and  such  as,  in  my  opinion, 
allowed  a  far  wider  sphere,  and  a  deeper  and  more 
human  interest.  Critics  are  too  apt  to  forget  that  rules 
are  but  means  to  an  end  ;  consequently,  where  the  ends 
are  different,  the  rules  must  be  likewise  so.  We  must 
have  ascertained  what  the  end  is,  before  we  can  deter- 
mino  what  the  rules  ou^ht  to  be.     Judging  under  thit 


42Q  ESSAYS    AND    REVIEWS. 

impression,"  he  adds,  "  I  did  not  hesitate  to  declare  my 
full  conviction,  that  the  consummate  judgment  of  Shak- 
speare,  not  only  in  the  general  construction,  but  in  all  the 
detail  of  his  dramas,  impressed  me  with  greater  wonder 
than  even  the  might  of  his  genius,  or  the  depth  of  his 
philosophy."  In  his  criticisms  on  Shakspeare,  he  insists, 
with  much  felicity,  on  the  unity  of  a  work  of  art  as  its 
characteristic  excellence.  It  must  be  a  concrete  whole, 
all  its  parts  in  just  subordination  to  its  leading  idea  or 
principle  of  life.  Thus  the  imagination,  in  its  tranquil 
and  purely  pleasurable  operation,  "  acts  chiefly  by  creat- 
ing out  of  many  things,  as  they  would  have  appeared  in 
the  description  of  an  ordinary  mind  detailed  in  unimpas- 
sioned  succession,  a  oneness,  even  as  nature,  the  greatest 
of  poets,  acts  upon  us  when  we  open  our  eyes  upon  an 
extended  prospect."  And  again :  the  imagination,  by 
combining  many  circumstances  into  one  moment  of  con- 
sciousness, "  tends  to  produce  the  ultimate  end  of  all 
human  thought  and  feeling,  unity,  and  thereby  the 
reduction  of  the  spirit  to  its  principles  and  fountain,  who 
is  always  truly  one."  At  the  end  of  his  notes  on  Shak- 
speare, he  has  a  passage,  full  of  power  and  meaning, 
incidentally  referring  to  the  same  thought :  "  There  are 
three  powers  :  —  Wit,  which  discovers  partial  likeness 
hidden  in  general  diversity;  Subtlety,  which  discovers 
the  diversity  concealed  in  general  apparent  sameness ; 
and  Profundity,  which  discovers  an  essential  unity  under 
all  the  semblances  of  difference.  Give  to  a  subtle  man 
fancy,  and  he  is  a  wit ;  to  a  deep  man  imagination,  and 
he  is  a  philosopher.  Add,  again,  pleasurable  sensibility 
in  the  threefold  form  of  sympathy  with  the  interesting  in 
morals,  the  impressive  in  form,  and  the  harmonious  in 
sound,  and  you  have  the  poet      But  combine  all,  wit 


COLERIDGE    AS    A    PHILOSOPHICAL    CRITIC.  421 

subtlety  and  fancy,  with  profundity,  imagination,  and 
moral  and  physical  susceptibility  of  the  pleasurable,  and 
let  the  object  of  action  be  man  universal,  and  we  shall 
have — oh,  rash  prophecy!  say,  rather,  we  have  —  a 
Shakspeare !  " 

We  have  no  space  to  refer  to  the  details  of  Coleridge's 
interpretations  of  Shakspeare  and  Wordsworth,  and  to 
his  application  of  his  theory  of  vital  powers  to  society, 
and  the  forms  of  religion  and  government.  Everything 
organized  received  from  him  a  respectful  consideration, 
when  he  could  recognize  its  organic  life  and  principle  of 
growth.  This,  of  course,  did  not  prevent  him  from  criti- 
cizing it,  and  estimating  its  value,  and  placing  it  in  its 
due  rank  in  the  sliding-scale  of  excellence  and  import- 
ance. But  it  did  prevent  him  from  hastily  deciding 
questions  on  shallow  grounds.  It  tended  to  give  his 
mind  catholicity  and  comprehension.  It  made  him  wil- 
ling to  learn.  When  he  was  dogmatic,  his  dogmatism 
was  the  dogmatism  of  knowledge,  not  of  ignorance.  He 
showed  that  there  are  deeper  principles  involved  in  what 
men  loosely  reason  upon,  and  carelessly  praise  or  con- 
demn, than  are  generally  acknowledged.  He  was  most 
disposed  to  examine  a  book  or  an  institution,  to  discern 
its  meaning,  while  others  were  joining  the  hue  and  cry 
against  it.  And,  especially,  he  changed  criticism  from 
censorship  into  interpretation  —  evolving  laws,  whilst 
others  were  railing  at  forms.  His  influence  in  this 
respect  has  been  great.  He  has  revolutionized  the  tone 
of  Jeflirey's  own  review,  and  Carlyle,  Macaulay,  Tal- 
fourd,  all  the  most  popular  critics  of  the  day,  more  or 
less  follow  his  mode  of  judgment  and  investigation. 


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